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ID O TJ l:TO IF.' 

A EXJSSIAlfl' STO^T. 

BY HENRY GREVILLE. 

AUTHOR OP “SAVELI’S EXPIATION,” “ PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES,” 

“ BONNE-MARIE,” “A FRIEND,” “ MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER,” 
“DOSIA,” “pretty little COUNTESS ZINA,” “ SONIA,” 
“gabrielle; or, the house op MAUREZE.” 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
BY MISS MARIE STEWART. 



** Dournof" ivas written in Russia during Madame Griville's residence in St. 
Petersburg, and is a graphic story of Russian life, containing careful studies of 
Russian character, which are most admirable. The story bears some resemblance to 
*'Dosia” and to Pretty Little Countess Zina,” but is more interesting, all the charac- 
ters being master-pieces of character drazving, while there is an ease and naturalness 
about each of the characters that makes the volume very entertaming and very enjoya- 
ble. One gets a good deal of valuable history, and of interesting facts pertaining to 
the people of Russia, from such stories as this, every page of which shows the hand 
of a powerful and experienced author. Henry GrCville, indeed, is a charming and 
exquisite writer. Marie Stewart, the translator, has done her work well, and in the 
most thorough manner, in the English version she has made of this attractive story. 


r, - 




PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

V 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


A' 



copyright: 

a?. B. :PETEIiS02:T &a 

1879. 





HENRT GRETIEEE’S CELEBRATED NOTEES. 

Donrnof. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,’* 

“ Dosia,” “ Marrying Off a Daughter,” etc. Translated by Miss Marie Stewart. 

“Douenof” was written in Russia during .Madame Gr§ville’s residence in St. Peters- 
burg, and is a charming and graphic story of Russian life, containing careful studies of 
Russian character, and character drawing, which are most admirable. 

Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Ch’iville, author of 
“ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Sonia,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

“Bonne-Marie” is a charming story, the scenes of which are laid in Normandy and 
Paris. It will no doubt create a sensation, such is its freshness, beauty, and delicacy. 

Philomene’S Marriages. From the French of “Xes Mariages de Philmiene.'* 
By Henry Griville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Gabrielle,” etc. 

The American edition of “ PHiLOjiiNE’s Marriages,” contains a Preface written by 
Henry Greville, addressed to her American Readers, which is not in the French edition. 
Translated in Paris, from Henry Greville' s manuscript, by Miss Helen Stanley. 

Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Gr6ville, author of “Dosia,” 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” “A Friend,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Shenvood. 

Zina, the Countess, bears a certain resemblance to Dosia — ^that bewitching creature — in 
her dainty wilfulness, while the ward and cousin, Vassalissa, is an entire new creation. 

Dosia. A Russian Story. Ry Henry G?'^vt7Ze, author of “ Bonne-Marie,” “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “Philomene’s Marriages,” “Marrying Off a Daughter,” “Sonia,” etc. 

“ Dosia ” has been crowned by the French Academy as the Prize Novel of the year. 
It is a charming story of Russian society, is written with a rare grace of style, is brilliant, 
pleasing and attractive. “ Dosia ” is an exquisite creation, and is pure and fresh as a i ose. 

Marrying OfT a Dangliter. By Henry Gremffe, author of “Dosia,” “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “ Gabrielle,” “ A Friend,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

“Marrying Off a Daughter” is gay, sparkling, and pervaded by a delicious tone of 
quiet humor, while the individuality of the characters is very marked. Suffice it to 
say, “Marrying Off a Daughter” will be read and enjoyed by thousands. 

A Frieinl ; or, L’Ami. A Story of Every-Day Life. By Henry Greville, autlmr 
of “ Sonia,” and “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Translated in Paris by Miss Helen Stanley. 

This tender and touching picture of French home-life will touch many hearts, jis it shows 
how the love of a true and good woman will meet with its reward and triumph at last. 

Sonia. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Marrying Off a Daughter,” “ Gabrielle,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Shenvood. 
Sonia ” is charming and refined, and is a powerful, graceful, domestic story, being 
most beautifully told — giving one a very distinct idea of every-day home life in Russia. 

Saveli’s Expiation. By Henry Gr6ville. A dramatic and powerful novel, and 
a pure love story. Translated from the French, by Mary Neal Shenvood. 

“ Saveli’s Expiation ” is one of the most dramatic and most powerful novels ever pub- 
lished, while a pathetic love story, all through its pages, is presented for relief. 

Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze. Translated from the French of 
Henry Griville, the most popular writer in Europe at the present time. 

“Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze,” is a very thrilling and touching story, 
most skilfully told, and follows the life of the girl whose title it bears. 


THIS TH^HSL^TIOIT 


IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

TO 

MES. BAIE-BEIDGE S. CLAEK, 


LOVING RECOGNITION 

OF HER 

thotjohti’tjij HiiriDirESS. 


MARIE STEWART. 



CONTENTS. 



Chapter. Page 

I. WAITING 23 

n. THE parents’ refusal 38 

m. THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS 54 

IV. MANOEUVRING MAMMAS . . . 65 

V. CROSS PURPOSES 69 

VI. DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS 76 

Vn. AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH 86 

vm. THE FEVER OF IMPATIENCE 94 

IX. TO .THE CIRCUS 100 

X. DETERMINED TO DIE 106 

XI. THE nurse’s story 113 

xn. THE TRUTH IS TOLD 126 

xni. WE ARE TO BLAME 138 

XIV. HIS FOREVER 141 

XV. THE GRAVE 149 


( 21 ) 


22 


COKTENTS 


Chapter. Page 

XVI. SECOND THOUGHTS 159 

XVn. GRATITUDE 166 

XVIH. FIDELITY 171 

XIX. WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT 181 

XX. TELLING FORTUNES 189 

XXI. antonine’s foresight 200 

xxn. ONE living! — another dead! 205 

XXin. THE WEDDING . . .' 211 

XXIV. THE YOUNG MOTHER 217 

XXV. HE ASKED HIS WIFE’S OPINION 224 

XXVI. HEARTLESSNESS 231 

xxvn. AT THE BALL 242 

xxvm. A CONTEST 246 

XXIX. AN ELOPEMENT 252 

XXX. REALITY 257 

XXXI. SHAMELESSNESS 268 

XXXII. THE CEMETERY 274 


D O U R N O F. 


A RUSSIAN STORY. 


BY HENRY GREYILLE. 


AUTHOE OF 


** PHILOMENE’S MAEEIAGES,” “PKETTY little countess ZINA,’* 

^‘dosia,” “maeeying off a daughtee,” “a feiend,” 
“B0NNE-MAEIE‘” “SAV^LI’S expiation,” “ SONIA,” 
^^gabeielle; oe, the house of maueeze.” 


CHAPTER L 


WAITING. 


NTONINE KARZOF was just nineteen. The 



music of the ball given upon her birthday had 
scarcely died away;^he traditional rosebuds had not 
had time to fade on her white dress ; and yet, Made- 
moiselle Karzof was not happy. The sunlight of a 
Spring day lighted, insufficiently, the large, sombre 
salon, where, eight days before, there had been so much 
dancing. A duet on the piano suggested a recent 
visitor ; but Antonine was not thinking of the sun, nor 
of music ; she was waiting for some one, and that some 
one came not. 

Twenty times she walked, back and forth, from the 


23 


24 


WAITING. 


window to the door of the ante-room, then into her 
own pretty little boudoir, which opened into the salon ; 
straightened up the drooping plants, arranged the folds 
of the curtain ; but all this took only five minutes, for 
time passed with such cruel slowness. 

“ Has my mother come in?” said Antonine to an old 
servant, who appeared at the door of the dining-room. 

“ No, not yet, my dear,” replied the woman. 

Antonine threw herself impatiently into an arm- 
chair, folding her beautiful little pink hands before 
her. 

“ She will not be long, now,” added the old nurse. 
“ Why are you so impatient to-day, my darling ? ” 

“ It is not to see mamma ; of that I am sure,” mur- 
mured Antonine. 

The old woman disappeared as noiselessly as she 
cam^, for no one ever heard her footsteps. 

Antonine’s eyes were fixed upon a sunbeam which 
shone on the inlaid floor, while she reflected seriously 
upon the past. Her reminiscej^ces dated back two 
years. It was at her father’s country place that she had 
found a new and indescribable charm in life. During 
a vacation, her brother, who was a student at the Uni- 
versity of St. Petersburg, brought home with him two 
of his college friends, that they might prepare together 
for their examinations. 

Why was Antonine as indifferent to one of these 
young men as she was to the grass she stood upon? 
Why were his attentions so disagreeable to her ? And 


WAITING. 25 

wliy did the other, who scarcely spoke at all, become 
the subject of her secret thoughts ? 

The theory of affinities will, doubtless, explain this. 

Dournof did not notice Antonine — scarcely spoke to 
her, never complimented her, and apparently concerned 
himself little about her. He was then a young man of 
two-and-twenty, of dark complexion, somewhat stout, 
and decidedly prosaic in appearance — we mean by this, 
that he was devoid of that sentimental romanticism 
which has suggested so many absurd books and prompted 
so many ridiculous deeds. Dournof had an independent 
air; he was honest and frank in manner and upright 
in character ; his laugh was hearty, showing his mag- 
nificent teeth — too large to please a dentist, but white 
and strong. He was active, knowing no obstacle to his 
will ; for liberty has a poetry of its own. 

Dournof did not pay much attention to AntoniHe ; 
for at the frequent reunions in the country where they 
danced at all hours of the day, or in the innocent games 
they played, he was sure to be found at her side. No 
one could take exception to this, for they scarcely 
exchanged two words during the whole day. When 
Dournof finished reading a book, one was sure to see 
it pass into Antonine’s hands; but in this there was 
nothing remarkable. 

Madame Karzof, who was not equal to any great 
enterprises, has however, followed the fashion and 
established a free school in the village. Antonine 
naturally interested herself in the girls, while Jean 


26 


WAITING. 


Karzof, her brother, took charge of the boys. But Jean 
was a dreamer ; and often forgot school to ramble in the 
woods with his other friend, carrying a gun on his 
shoulder, but they shot little game. 

Dournof took his place in the school, “to keep up 
the discipline,” he said. 

Antonine and he walked along side by side ; but she 
did not take his arm ; they went into different rooms, 
but frequently returned together. Thus the summer 
passed. 

Even yet they did not talk together much, though 
more than they did at first. The University vacation 
was drawing to a close and the leaves were beginning to 
fall. Antonine, who was quite thoughtful, had become 
thinner and lost her color. She frequently retired 
early without giving any good reason for it. If her 
mother followed her into the room, she would find her 
seated in an arm-chair, listless and weary, complaining 
of nothing except fatigue. 

One day, as Antonine came out of the school-house 
a little later than usual, she saw Dournof waiting for 
her. He was sitting on the wooden steps, whistling. 
At the noise made by the opening of the door, he 
jumped up, and Antonine saw, at a glance, that his face 
had a new expression. Her eyes dropped. 

They were walking towards the house, when Dournof 
stopped suddenly, and said to Antonine, “ I have some- 
thing to say to you.” 

They loitered near the well. This well had a wall 


WAITING. 


27 


about three feet high, built of square blocks of pine ; 
the water was level with the ground, and the old 
wooden bucket, blackened by long use, swung to and 
fro amid the yellow birch leaves which the autumn 
winds had piled up. The pole to which the bucket was 
attached was concealed by the low branches of the 
trees ; and the high, thick garden hedge made a sort of 
back-ground for this rustic construction ; the grass was 
thicker there than anywhere else. At this hour no one 
ever came to the well ; the spot was as secluded as if in 
the middle of a wood, and yet it was but two metres 
from the house. 

Antonine felt her heart beating violently — so terrible 
did the throbbing seem to her, that she feared Dournof 
would hear it. 

He stood a moment, gazing intently at her ; 

“ You are wealthy,” he began. 

“ No, I am not rich,” interrupted Antonine, quickly. 

“ You are, perhaps, not rich in the eyes of your own 
circle, but rich in comparison to a fortuneless grandson 
of a priest. Your family belongs to the nobility.” 

Antonine opened her lips, but he made a sign, and 
she was silent. 

“ I am of obscure origin,” he continued, “ as I just 
told you. My grandfather was a priest ; my father a 
clerk in the comity court, and that is why I have a 
crown on my seal.” 

He smiled in such a way that Antonine smiled in 
return : 


28 


WAITING. 


“ That does not prevent ” 

He hesitated, looked at Antonine, who, instead of 
turning away, stood covered with blushes. 

This encouraged Dournof. He extended his large, 
handsome hand. The young girl placed her hand in 
his, unhesitatingly, although with a certain gravity. 

“ I believe,” replied Dournof, “ that we may follow 
the same path in life. I intend to do something; I 
don’t know yet what it will be, but a useful work; will 
you aid me ? Not only when the way shall be marked 
out, and the route easy, but during times of discourage- 
ment and trials ; when I am overwhelmed with disap- 
pointments, poor and obscure, with no one to trust me 
except your brother, who has absolute confidence in me. 
Will you give me courage when I need it ? and that 
will be happiness.” 

The hand which held Antonine’s trembled a little 
notwithstanding the perceptible effort of Dournof to 
appear calm. Antonine looked at the young man, and 
replied ; 

“ I will.” 

“ Think well of it,” he continued, with much emotion 
expressed in his voice, “ at present I can offer you no 
home; I cannot ask you of your parents until I can 
‘see my way clear.’ ” 

“ You said, a few moments ago,” interrupted Anto- 
nine, “ that I had some fortune ” 

“ Enough to prevent my aspiring to your hand until 
I can offer you the same. What is your dowry ? ” 


WAITING. 


29 


“ Thirty thousand francs,” replied the young girl, 
not at all astonished at this question. 

“ Well, I must have a position which will yield me at 
least the interest of your capital. It is very little,” he 
added, smiling, “ and I can soon have it, when once I 
get my license. But I must wait, and this place will 
be a stepping-stone to something else. The years of 
work and trial will be long.” 

“ I will wait,” said Antonine, unhesitatingly. 

Dournof looked at her perfectly enchanted ; this look, 
so sweet and tender, was like a benediction. 

“ I love you,” he said, “ I love you so much that if 
you had refused me I believe I would have renounced 
all my plans in life.” 

“ What do you intend to be ? ” asked Antonine. 

“ A lawyer ! ” 

Antonine looked at him with amazement. At that 
time the organization of the courts was yet in embryo, 
and lawyers existed only in name. This term was 
applied to chamber counsellors, business men, not gene- 
rally highly esteemed in the community. 

Dournof explained to her the projected reforms, and 
what position a man of talent and energy could take in 
the new order of tilings. 

“ Think ! ” said he, “ until the present time everything 
has been given up to arbitration, millions of ruined men 
have been crying out for justice, without obtaining it. 
Think ! Light will dawn upon this chaos, and after the 
Czar, the first benefactor, what a magnificent role a man 


30 


WAITING. 


will fill wlio restores right and justice to the unfortu- 
nate ! ” 

“ Are you ambitious ? ” asked Antonine, with the 
same simplicity. 

Dournof colored ; reflected a moment, then replied : 

“ No ; for if I were ambitious I would be willing to 
work on alone, but I cannot live without you.” 

“ I will wait,” repeated Antonine. “ From this 
moment I am yours.” 

He did not thank her, for they understood each other 
without any need of words. He pressed the hand that 
he held, then let it fall. 

“You will not speak of it to anyone, will you?” 
asked the young girl as they turned into the path 
which led to the house. 

“ That is for you to decide,” replied Dournof. “ If 
you think your family would receive me favorably ” 

Antonine could not help laughing ; her father’s non- 
entity and her mother’s frivolity made her feel towards 
them as one does towards irresponsible, weak-minded 
persons. 

“They will not receive you favorably; but we can 
wait.” 

“As you will,” replied the young man. They 
reached the house without saying anything more. 

From that day Madame Karzof had no reason to be 
uneasy about her daughter’s health; Antonine re- 
covered her spirits as well as the color in her cheeks, 
but gradually she left off her fancy work, and turned to 


WAITING. 


31 


more serious occupation. Slie learned to cut, to sew 
and darn. 

“ Heavens ! what a droll girl you are ! ” her young 
companions would say to her ; “ what pleasure can you 
find in hemming towels ? ” 

Antonine joked at first about these inelegant pas- 
times, but she was very persevering, and became quite 
expert. During the winter the young people often met, 
for they danced a great deal in Russia at that time. 
Many families had a day when the younger members 
would assemble, and dance from seven o’clock in the 
evening until midnight. 

The most successful rSunions were held at Madame 
Frakine’s; how she could give so much pleasure to 
everybody, and with such a small income, was a 
mystery ; it was a problem no one could ever solve. 
Perhaps the good woman deprived herself of the neces- 
saries of life in order to pay for that large apartment ; 
perhaps she secretly sold the last family jewels to defray 
the expenses of lighting the salons, which were crowded 
every Saturday; it was admitted they never had as 
good a time elsewhere, or had such a keen appetite for 
supper. 

The supper consisted of slices of brown and white 
bread, artistically cut, and arranged on plates of Eng- 
lish faience; with a little butter, which was brought 
from the country once a month and carefully preserved 
in the ice-box ; a few salt herrings covered with parsley, 
and cut onions, with an immense salad of white potatoes 


32 


WAITING. 


and beets. A small cheese was sometimes added to 
this frugal menu^ worthy of a hermit’s cell. 

But it was all so well served, there were so many 
silver knives and forks on the table, such quantities 
of carafes^ filled with sparkling home-made “ kvass, 
instead of wine ; there was such true hospitality, that 
the young folks, more hungry for pleasure than dainties, 
appeared charmed with everything, and commenced 
dancing again, after supper, with renewed vigor. 

At midnight, Madame Frakine made her appearance 
in the salon with a broom in her hand, which she called 
her broom of ceremony ; this was, as she said, to drive 
away the dancers. They gathered around her begging 
for just a quarter of an hour, for one more reel ; but she 
refused, threatening them with her broom, until one 
brave fellow began to play a waltz on the piano, and 
Madame Frakine and her broom were drawn into the 
dance by the persevering youth. She would make the 
tour of the salon, laughing merrily, her cap all crooked 
on her white hair, then suddenly she would drop down 
on the sofa. 

This was a signal to leave. Everybody came up, 
kissed her, and complimented her, until the next 
Saturday. 

Why did this good woman, husbandless and child- 
less, spend her meagre income in entertaining people 
who were nothing to her ? She will explain in a word, 
and naught can be said. 

“ It amuses me,” she said. “ Some people take 


WAITING. 


33 


tobacco, others waste their patrimony; some give all 
their money to the doctor or the apothecary ; I amuse 
the young, and it gives me pleasure.” 

It was there, during the winter after their strange 
conversation, that Dournof and Antonine saw so much 
of each other. Madame Karzof sent her daughter with 
the old nurse, to her neighbor’s house. The servant 
would return for her about midnight, and wait with the 
other servants, half asleep on the benches of the ante- 
room, until the young people were tired of dancing and 
laughing. 

During the five or six years that Madame Frakine 
had these reunions, which brought together about fifty 
persons of both sexes, several marriages had taken place; 
there were also many flirtations which never ended in 
matrimony; but nothing disagreeable ever occurred. 
The society was too pure, the young girls had too 
much self-respect, and the men honored the estimable 
woman. 

Summer returned. Jean Karzof went off with his 
fellow student to the country; so the engaged couple 
resumed their promenades to the school-house. Mad- 
ame Karzof seemed to have so little idea of the situation 
that she would often send them on some errand to- 
gether, or on an. excursion; they concluded that she 
must know their feelings, and had no objections. 

Antonine, particularly, was so sure of it sometimes, 
that Dournof had some trouble in dissuading her from 
speaking openly to her mother about it. 

2 


34 


WAITING. 


“ Let her alone,” said he. “ If she approves of it she 
will say nothing to us ; if you are mistaken she will 
separate us, at least until I come to claim you; and 
then what shall we do?” 

The idea of even a temporary separation under such 
conditions, was so painful that Antonine submitted to 
this reasoning. 

The young people were happy in living in the same 
place, happy in being able to see each other occasionally, 
and working apart, with a view of being united. This 
happiness was moderate, but they felt they must not lose 
a moment of it. Antonine was very reticent. 

A painful trial was awaiting them. Dournof s father 
died during the second winter, and the young man was 
obliged to leave to look after his affairs. 

The separation which was to last at the most a 
month, was prolonged to five. Dournof settled his 
mother and two unmarried sisters in a more humble 
home than the apartment where they lived during 
their father’s lifetime. The State in Russia, liberally 
supports her officers. Madame Dournof and her daugh- 
ters sighed mournfully, when they saw the little wooden 
house they were to live in, instead of the high and 
spacious apartment, which had so long been their home. 

Antonine and her betrothed, resolved not to write to 
each other, except under pressing necessities ; but the 
separation was so long, that they were compelled to 
resort to a correspondence, and the young girl decided 
to confide her secret to the old nurse. 


WAITING. 


36 


No one knew this woman’s name, so they called her 
“ Niania.” She was born in Madame Karzof’s mother’s 
house, and was thirty-seven years of age when she was 
married. The young bride received Niania as a wed- 
ding present from her mother, and she was not the 
least valuable gift in the trousseau. She had been 
with her mistress when several children were born; 
had taken care of them, and helped bury them all 
except Jean and Antonine. She adored these two 
beings as she worshiped her God ; and if she had been 
compelled to choose between her eternal salvation and 
the life of one of these, she would unhesitatingly have 
given up her own soul. 

Niania was more particularly devoted to Antonine. 
She was a girl, and consequently needed more care, as 
she was more at home; whereas Jean was at school, and 
did not come in until four o’clock each day. 

Since Antonine ’s birth, it was Niania who took her 
to walk, dressed her in the morning, put her to bed, in 
fact, she was like Antonine’s very shadow. The number 
of maids and governesses who had been turned away 
on her account, the numerous quarrels and difficulties 
she had excited, would fill a volume. 

Who ever disturbed or annoyed Antonine, would 
have to look out, for Niania saw no obstacle when she 
wanted to arrive at certain results. 

Professors and teachers, one and all, were compelled 
to yield. Naturally, therefore, Antonine became per- 
emptory and exacting. If she did not become a despot, 


36 


WAITING. 


it was because she bad an innate sense of right and 
wrong ; but for all that, she was very self-willed. 

This firmness guarded her from capriciousness, which 
was the glaring fault with her companions, who 
flattered her incessantly, and might have made Anto- 
nine very headstrong, had she not been so sensible. 

Although so certain of Niania’s blind devotion, she 
was much agitated the day she told of Dournof s love. 
The old servant listened with hands folded, and head 
slightly bent in the most respectful manner, a manner 
which never failed her in the presence of her superiors. 

“Well, and what then?” she asked, when Antonine 
finished. “You love that youth? Why should you 
not if he is a good man ? ” 

“ But my mother may not like it,” added Antonine, 
surprised that she did not meet with more opposition. 

“If you love him, that is nothing. Your mother 
would not wish to grieve her beloved child. Only, my 
beautiful darling, be very prudent ; do not allow your 
lover any liberties.” 

Antonine gave Niania a severe look, and the woman 
concluded her young mistress needed no teaching. 

“ It is right, very right,” replied she, “ provided you 
marry the man your heart has chosen. That is very 
important. Your mother, God bless her, was not so 
happy when she married your father — she wept 
bitterly ! ” 

“ You remember it ? ” asked Antonine, quickly. ’ 
“Certainly. She loved another; a handsome officer 


WAITIITG. 37 

with a small moustache, who used to come to the 
house. ” 

“Well?” 

“Well, what do you want me to tell you?” she con- 
soled herself — “ your father is a fine man ; nothing can 
be said against him ; he has cherished your mother like 
the apple of his eye. She has always done as she 
pleased.” 

Antonine secretly hoped that her mother, who was 
prevented from marrying the man she loved in her 
youth, might be compassionate in this case. However, 
she contented herself by hoping on in silence. Mania 
was charged with the letters of the betrothed lovers, 
and acquitted herself with much zeal and dexterity. 

The morning of that day when Antonine was so 
impatient, she had received a line from Dournof, telling 
her of his intended return that very day. That was 
the reason the hours seemed so long to her. 


38 THE PAKENTS’ REFUSAL. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE PARENT s’ REFUSAL. 

HE bell sounded in the ante - chamber. Niania 



X. ran to answer it; and, as the door was partly 
open, Antonine could hear these words 

“ Here you are again, faithful friend, our runaway, 
our bright star ! God bless you ! The young lady is 
waiting with impatience ! ” 

“Is she at home?” asked Dournof, in a grave tone. 
“Yes, yes; she is at home, expecting you, and is 
alone in the salon.” 

Dournof walked rapidly to the door, opened it wide, 
and stood still on the threshold. He saw Antonine 
standing with her back to the window. The light fell 
upon her in such a way as to bring out each feature of 
that beautiful face. She was afraid to move a step; 
until that moment, she had never done more than 
touch his hand — could she now resist the impulse to 
throw herself in the arms of her fiancS ? 

She had not time to think. Suddenly she felt two 
arms clasped firmly around her, her head rested on 
Dournof s breast, and her blonde hair was covered with 
kisses. The old nurse shut the door of the salon and 
went out, leaving her blessing upon the young couple. 


“ My light, my life ! ” said Dournof, in a low tone, 


THE parents’ refusal. 39 

as lie caressed Antonine with paternal gentleness ; “ how 
I have suffered without you ! ” 

He held her off from him a little that he might see 
her better. He said nothing, but the smile showed how 
much he loved her. 

“ What have you been doing, this long time ? ” said 
he, in leading her to an arm-chair and taking a seat in 
front of her. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Antonine ; “ it was like a 
long night. I have been very busy, though.” 

“ Busy with what ? ” 

‘‘With our school duties. I have prepared lessons 
for the children in the village, and it is no easy matter, 
to explain things to undeveloped minds. I have had 
much trouble to make it clear — But we will talk of 
this later. And you ; what have you been doing ? ” 

Dournof passed his hand over his brow, as if to drive 
aw^ay care. 

“ I have been reading old manuscripts, signing pa- 
pers, grappling with the deceit of some, and the obse- 
quiousness of others. I have, with difficulty, wrested 
from covetous hands the remnant of my patrimony ; I 
have settled my mother and sisters in a decent house, 
and here I am. Antonine, listen to me ! I never will 
leave you again.” 

She looked at him; and her eyes plainly told that 
she too, never wished to leave him. 

“ I shall ask your parents for your hand. I am not 
rich — far from it — but I have enough to live on. 


40 THE parents’ refusal. 

modestly, for five years. In the mean time, I am sure 
of acquiring a position worthy of you.” 

He arose; his broad chest seemed to expand with 
hope and joy, his eyes sparkled, liis face was flushed. 
Occasionally he impatiently dashed aside the wavy hair 
which fell over his broad brow ; he looked like a man of 
indomitable courage and energy. 

“ Do you fear poverty? ” he asked. 

She shook her head lightly, with a smile of pride 
and confidence on her face. 

“ Will your parents seriously object ? ” 

“ Probably,” she answered. 

“ And then ? ” 

“Nothing shall separate us,” said Antonine, in a low 
tone, casting down her eyes. 

“They will bid us wait, and we will obey.” 

Dournof sank into a chair and sighed. Antonine 
spoke lightly of waiting ; for her, it was not so hard. 
She was living at home — in ease — working when she 
pleased to work, surrounded by beloved objects — life 
was pleasant for her — but for him, it was vastly 
different. 

As he sat there, with his brain, weary from travel and 
sad reflections, his lonely existence stretched out before 
him. He saw a solitary room, where there was no trace 
of a beloved woman’s hand — simply the necessary 
furniture, nothing agreeable to look at — no souvenirs 
on the walls, hung with ordinary paper — not even 
Antonine’s photograph! A dreary repast; solitude 


THE parents’ refusal. 41 

everywhere, particularly in his daily toil; and work 
would have been so sweet, near her ! How much An- 
tonine’s presence would have embellished this sad 
picture ! 

He was far from mercenary ; still he knew that the 
young girl’s small dowry would bring comfort to them 
both. They could, at least, rent a modest apartment, 
wherein the wife might leave the delicate and sacred 
traces of her presence. 

Antonine did not think of this difference in their 
lives ; she knew only the poetical side. The poverty 
of the villagers was familiar to her, and she tried to 
alleviate their sorrows in every possible way ; but pov- 
erty with a man in his position was altogether a differ- 
ent thing ; it seemed to be gilded over by the joys of 
study and their love. 

Dournof sighed a second time and lifted his head. 
Antonine looked at him sadly. 

“ What is to be done ? ” he said, with a forced smile. 
“We can wait, to be sure; but if your parents persist 
in refusing ? ” 

“They are not wolves,” answered Antonine, gaily; 
“ they love me, and will end by consenting. And 
then, who knows, they may consent at once.” 

Dournof did not think so, but he said nothing. 
Between these two loving natures there was no deceit 
— their love was strengthened by unlimited esteem. 

“ Antonine,” said the young man, after a long silence, 
“ I regret that I ever became attached to you. I should 


42 


THE parents’ refusal. 


have understood that I had no right to speak until I 
had a home to offer you. But I was too young to 
know ” 

“ I do not regret it,” said Antonine, extending to him 
her hand. 

He took it, pressed it, but did not lift it to his lips — 
feeling sure of each other, they were not demon- 
strative. 

A carriage stopped under the windows, the occupants 
alighted, and Antonine remarked : 

“ It is my mother ; she has been making visits with 
my father to-day. Would you like to speak to them? ” 

Dournof put his arm around her, and for a moment 
Antonine’s head rested on his shoulder. 

“ Whatever happens, you are mine, forever,” said he. 

“ Forever ! ” replied Antonine, firmly. 

Some one rang. Niania ran to the door of the salon 
to warn the young people ; but they were not afraid of 
being surprised. 

Monsieur and Madame Karzof came into the salon a 
moment later, and expressed their satisfaction in seeing 
the young man, after his long absence. 

Madame Karzof was a woman about forty-five years 
of age, rather small, plump, active, bright, yet ignorant — 
like many of the Russian women of her class. Sufficiently 
cultivated for her position in life, kind and generous — 
even lavish at times, and occasionally depriving herself 
that she might assist an unfortunate fellow-creature — 
but at the same time would aUow a beggar to die of 


THE parents’ refusal. 


43 


hunger upon her very threshold, if she thought him 
unworthy; would defray the expenses of his burial, 
deplore her hard-heartedness, and then do the same 
thing over again, when a similar occasion occurred. 

Madame Karzof loved her daughter, yet persecuted 
her incessantly. Antonine liked blue, but her mother 
made her wear pink, because she thought it was be- 
coming to all young girls. The fashion then was to 
wear the hair plain, she compelled Antonine to curl 
hers with great care, regardless of what was becoming. 
The following year she made her crimp her hair, which 
was a yard long, so tightly on one occasion, that no 
comb could be passed through it, and therefore it had 
to be cut off — all because some good woman of her 
acquaintance had told her it was the fashion, and the 
only Avay hair should be worn at a ball. 

Antonine hated the stiff, contracted society of the 
middle classes, wherein her mother insisted on taking 
her; she liked, on the contrary, the refined freedom 
which she found at Madame Frakine’s. Madame 
Karzof would have preferred it otherwise, but never 
forbade her attending the Saturday rSunions^ although 
she herself was so utterly bored in the society of Mad- 
ame Frakine, that she sent Antonine with her nurse. 
The young girl did not complain, for she had met 
Dournof there the preceding year. This winter, on 
account of his mourning, he would absent himself — 
much to the regret of the young folks — for Dournof, 
with all his serious manner, was, in his gay moods, the 
leader of all the merriment. 


44 


THE PAEENTS’ EEFUSAL. 


It was in this way that Madame Karzof had accus- 
tomed her daughter to think lightly of her opinions. 
Although Antonine was always respectful to her 
mother, who was often annoyed at her daughter’s acts 
and opinions, and had told her so, Antonine received 
this frank expression of opinion with politeness and 
gentleness, but with a certain decision, concealed un- 
der this apparent deference — which Madame Karzof 
felt — rendering her more firm in her determination 
to make her daughter happy in spite of herself; to 
dress her more elaborately than was the girl’s wish. 
All, of course, was for the. girl’s good, but was none 
the less trying. Monsieur Karzof was a good man — 
that is all can be said of him — no one had ever heard 
any other opinion expressed in regard to him. He per- 
formed, mechanically, his duties in the office, overlooked 
his employes, kept all his engagements, was never ill, 
hut slept and walked with a regularity, any disturbance 
of which he resented. He submitted in everything 
to the superior judgment of his wife, which was the 
strongest proof of his wisdom. 

“Well, my dear sir,” said Madame Karzof, in taking 
her hat off when she was settled on the sofa — she loved 
comfort above everything— “ What do you intend to do 
now ? Go into business ? ” 

“ No, my dear madame ; I think not.” 

“What do you want to do, then?” said Monsieur 
Karzof, in amazement. Xhe idea of a man not going 
into an office astonished him. 


THE parents’ refusal. 45 

“ I want to prepare myself for a year or two yet, to 
adopt a less popular career.” 

“ What an idea I ” said that worthy man ; “ Do like 
everybody else.” 

“May one ask what this career is?” said Madame 
Karzof, smiling. 

“ Most certainly ; I don’t care to make a mystery of 
the matter. You know, next year, they intend to open 
a Tribunal of Reports.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Karzof, shrugging his shoulders; 
“ they will decide your case without research. What 
stupidity ! ” 

“ Time will prove if . this be stupidity, sir,” said 
Dournof, considerably more politic than he would have 
been under other circumstances; “this mstitution has 
no equivalent in England or France — as for Germany, 
I don’t know ” 

“ Nor do I ! ” interrupted Karzof, with a dignified air. 

— “ This institution, which will permit men to termi- 
nate their disputes without waiting twenty or thirty 
years — which a lawsuit would take — will be in opera- 
tion before the year is out.” 

“ Yes,” said Karzof, in turning towards his wife ; 
“you know they built, in Lit^inaia, a superb palace, 
with a statue over the door, the Judgment of Solomon. 
What a pity ! That might serve as an example.” 

“Well, my dear sir,” replied Madame Karzof, “what 
connection is there between the Judgment of Solomon 
and your determination not to go into business ? ” 


46 THE PAEENTS’ KEFUSAL, 

“ It is this, — that we must have unbiased counsellors 
to examine papers rapidly and give advice to clients ; 
later on, there must be lawyers to plead cases before 
criminal and other courts.” 

“ Lawyers ! — Men who mix up things, and want a 
little slice from both sides,” said Madame Karzof, in a 
disgusted manner. 

“ No, my dear madame ; — you are referring to old- 
fashioned lawyers. I am speaking of the new.” 

“ Will they pay them for talking ? ” asked Karzof. 

“ Precisely.” 

“ And you wish to be one of them ? ” 

I do.” 

The husband and wife exchanged glances with a sort 
of mocking commiseration for the unfortunate man, 
who deserved, to use a vulgarism, a knock in the 
head. 

“ Is money to be made in this way ? ” asked Karzof, 
with an air of superiority. 

“ Money can be made, certainly.” 

“Well, when you have made some, will you come 
and let us see it — out of curiosity?” concluded the 
good man, laughing, as he turned towards his wife, who 
added her mirth to his. 

All this was very discouraging. Antonine, who had 
not opened her lips since her parents came, looked at 
Dournof to see how he took all this. He responded by 
a goodnatured smile and a bold glance, which was full 
of courage and tenderness. 


THE parents’ refusal. 


47 


“ Time will tell ! ” said lie to the Karzofs. “ In the 
mean time, would you be willing to give your daughter 
in marriage to a man who is determined to make a large 
fortune, but who for the present, possesses little besides 
his good will ? ” 

“ Good heavens ! ” cried Madame Karzof. “ What do 
3^ou mean ? Give Nina to a poor man ! that would be 
folly ! ” 

Antonine looked at her mother. “Even if your 
daughter loved him ? ” said she, gently. 

“ I hope, heaven be praised, I have brought her up 
better than to indulge in any such fancies,” said the 
mother, with a certain tartness which promised no 
good. She darted a threatening glance at Dournof. 

He thought he must now speak, and started from his 
chair. 

“ Monsieur, and Madame,” said he ; “ I have loved 
your daughter for two years, and I have reason to 
believe that she is not indifferent to me. I promise 
you that with me she shall not be unhappy. Will you 
give me your daughter for a wife, and with her, your 
blessing ? ” 

“ After what you have said,” said Madame Karzof ; 
“ my dear sir, that would simply be madness ! ” 

“ Folly ! ” interrupted M. Karzof. 

“I admit,” replied Dournof, “that I was wrong to 
joke just now, but I am certain of a brilliant future, 
and will have more courage if Antonine is by my side 
through life.” 


48 THE parents’ refusal. 

“ Go into an office, and we will see,” said the mother. 

“ Enter an office,” added the father. “ It is there 
alone that a man can attain eminence and fortune.” 

He touched the cross of St. Anne, which hung 
around his neck on a piece of ribbon, and glanced 
around his salon, to indicate his success in life. Dour- 
nof tried to suppress a smile of contempt. 

“ If Antonine wishes me to enter an office,” he said, 
“ I am ready to obey her. Tell me, do you wish it ? ’ 

He addressed her with infinite bitterness in his tone. 
She was tempted to say yes, but was afraid of offending 
him. She knew he had loved her for her patience, 
perseverance and moral courage, and in her giving 
way to any weakness, she would fall in his estimation. 
With her heart full, she assumed a calm expression, 
looked boldly at liim, and said: “No, I have no such 
desire.” 

“You have lost your senses!” exclaimed the Kar- 
zofs. And this was the beginning of a scene which 
lasted two hours. “ Go into business.” This was their 
first, and last argument. 

“ But,” objected Dournof, “ if I devote myself to 
the service of the State, I cannot occupy myself with 
questions of law, when my future is concerned. It is 
not to scribble at a desk in an office that I have worked 
eight years and obtained my license I ” 

“You might do two things at a time,” added M. 
Karzof, as a last concession. I have a very intelligent 
young man in my office, who writes ‘ vaudevilles ’ for 


THE parents' refusal. 49 

the Russian theatre ; that is, he arranged French ‘ vau- 
devilles ’ for the Russian stage, and he has succeeded 
very well. Besides that, he has been decorated, and 
last year won a prize.” 

“For service to the State, or the stage?” asked 
Dournof; who sometimes showed his boyish playful- 
ness, even under the most serious circumstances. 

“I — I — I don’t know. That does not concern us,” 
replied Karzof, a little disconcerted. 

“ You are employed in a law office,” said Dournof. 
“ Very good ; do you believe your decorated young man 
devotes himself conscientiously to the business of the 
office, when he has a piece in rehearsal ? Does he not 
leave his desk before the time, and come late ? Would 
you submit to, that from a man wlio did not write 
vaudevilles? — No, Monsieur Karzof; the man who 
wants to serve the State, consequently his country, 
should give himself up entirely to reach the end he has 
chosen. I have selected another career than business ; 
I intend to be more useful to my country than I could 
possibly have become, had I remained a mere scribbler 
for 3"ears — I don’t want to rob the State by making 
them pay me for work badly done — neither do I wish 
to ruin my profession, by devoting my strength to a 
service which is so distasteful to me.” 

He spoke with so much zeal, with such flashing eyes, 
that the Karzofs were dumbfounded. 

“ That is very good, very good ! ” said M. Karzof ; 
“ you reason nobly, young man.” 

8 


50 


THE parents’ refusal. 


“ Then you will consent to give Antonine to me ? ” 
exclaimed Dournof, with rapture. 

“ Never ! unless you think differently ; ” replied 
Madame Karzof. “ Your thoughts are noble, as is your 
bearing ; but one cannot be happy without money. My 
mother married me to a man I did not love ” — she cast 
an affectionate glance at the astonished old man — “I 
would have preferred a little whipper-snapper, who had 
turned my head ; but I congratulate myself I had such 
a wise and prudent mother, for with my husband I 
have never wanted for anything, thank God ! whereas, 
with the other — I should have died with hunger.” 

“You give me no encouragement, for the present?” 
asked Dournof, tired of going round and round in the 
the same circle so long. 

“ Go into business ! As soon as you have a situation 
worth 1500 roubles, we will give Antonine to you ; 
because you are a good fellow, as we have known you 
a long time ; you are, moreover, a friend of Jean, but 
we never thought of a son-a-law with so little fortune. 
Antonine should aspire to a colonel, or even a general ! ” 

“ When I have 1500 roubles income, will you give her 
to me ? ” insisted Dournof. 

“If you were only in an office — for you see, my 
dear sir, these single-handed projects flourish a while, 
then fail. All your little schemes will have their ups 
and downs; nothing but the service of the State is 
certain ! ” 

“ Like human weakness ! ” thought Dournof. “ Well, 


THE parents’ refusal. 61 

let it be so,” said he ; “you know I am very matter of 
fact, you will not forbid me the house ! ” 

“Why ” began Karzof. His wife interrupted 

him. She had been trying to arrive at the thoughts in 
her daughter’s heart, and much to her delight, dis- 
covered no signs of a girl in love. No tears, or pallor, 
or affectionate exclamations. Antonine did not change 
color ; her pale, sallow complexion seldom varied, even 
under great excitement. Madame Karzof could not 
understand ; there might be an inward tumult under an 
exterior apparently so indifferent. 

“ Why not? Our Jean says you are his most highly 
esteemed friend, and a friend of my son will always be 
welcome at our house. As for Nina, this absurd idea 
will soon be driven out of her head, if it was ever there ; 
she is a girl of some mind, and she knows we love her, 
so she has never been obstinate.” 

Here Madame Karzof prevaricated, for she called 
Antonine obstinate every day, but she did not think it 
wise to say so to a stranger, particularly to a man who 
might possibly become her son-in-law. 

Antonine was ready to reply, but a sign from Dournof 
silenced her. As long as they could see each other 
daily, life would be bearable. Dournof bowed and 
shook hands with the old people, as he usually did, then 
extended his hand to Antonine, saying as he went out, 
“ au revoir^ 

“What does that mean?” exclaimed M. Karzof, 
brusquely. “ Why did you permit such a rattle- 
brain ” 


52 THE parents' refusal. 

“ Leave the affair in my hands, my dear,” said his 
wife, immediately, “ it will be better for me to speak 
with Nina. A mother understands how to talk with 
girls, and the father with boys, that is in the order of 
nature.” 

Upon hearing this, M. Karzof murmured, “ That is 
good,” and enveloped himself in his dressing-gown, for 
which he had been sighing for some time. 

Madame Karzof led her daughter into her room, and 
while she was taking off her visiting attire with an 
occasional sigh, began questioning Antonine on different 
subjects. When? where? how had this love com- 
menced? What had Dournof said? Had he always 
been respectful? 

“ He has never even kissed my hand,” replied Anto- 
nine, coldly. 

“ That my child was because of your discretion ! ” 
The good woman talked for a half hour upon maidenly 
modesty, whereby Antonine was not much edified. 
When the sermon was finished, Madame Karzof added : 

“ This is all nonsense ; a young girl who marries a 
poor man is a philanthropist, and when this term is 
applied to a respectable woman, she becomes a very 
dangerous member of society ; a girl should marry a 
man of position, a General with a ‘ star,’ and a fortune, 
then she will be happy, and certain that her children 
will not die of hunger.” 

Madame Karzof was talking to the winds. Her 
hourgeoUe wisdom was a dead letter to Antonine. 


THE parents’ refusal. 


63 


The girl was in love, and that was enough to render 
her deaf to such advice, and to these maxims, by 
which mothers in the middle classes are so often 
guided. Antonine disliked to hear her mother utter 
them ; but nothing elevated or dignified fell from her 
lips. Antonine vainly grieved over this, as she wished, 
not only to love her mother, but to venerate her. 

In silence the girl listened to this chaotic good advice, 
mingled with admonitions, and finally kissed her 
mother’s hand, said good-night, and retired to her room, 
thankful to be alone where she could weep as much as 
she pleased. And weep she did, since she saw no hope 
in the future. 


54 THE THKEE TKOUBLED HEADS. 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 

M adame FRAKINE’S salon was lighted by a 
few scattered candles placed against the white 
papered walls. About twenty young people were 
dancing ; more than half of them girls, who seemed to 
forget that there was any to-morrow. Youth is rarely 
fatigued by pleasure, and if ph3^sical weariness assails 
them they soon laugh it off, and begin anew. 

An old servant appeared, bearing a salver, with 
glasses and tea-cups. 

“Don’t bring that tea here!” cried one of the 
dancers; “it will stop all the dancing, take up time, 
and make us so warm.” 

“But you will need some refreshment,” answered 
Madame Frakine, from the dining-room, where she and 
two or three mammas were arranging the buffet. 

“ We will drink kvass, then,” answered a young girl. 
“ And wait until your supper,” added a masculine 
voice. “ You will have supper, will you not ? ” 

“Yes, children; we shall have the same supper that 
you always find here.” 

“ Will there be cheese ? ” 

“ And herring ? ” 

“ Yes, and cold veal too ! ” added Frakine. 


THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 55 


Having heard this delicious feast announced, the 
fun was resumed in the salon, and the good woman 
explained to the astonished mammas how they were to 
have this extraordinary luxury. In the morning having 
received from her little estate a quarter of veal, she 
ordered it roasted immediately, that she might regale 
her young folks. 

“ Well, really ! ” she exclaimed, seeing Dournof come 
in, “ here is the prodigal son come to eat the traditional 
fatted calf.” 

“Is there indeed veal?” said Dournof, with that 
joviality which he never lost ; “ what a windfall ! You 
have inherited a fortune ? ” 

“ You rascal ! ” exclaimed Madame Frakine, “ actu- 
ally reproaching me for my poverty ! Where did you 
come from so stealthily ? ” 

“ I came from the government of T .” 

“When?” 

“ This morning.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Madame Frakine, glancing towards the 
door. Antonine, who was sitting at the piano when 
Dournof entered, resigned her place to another martyr 
to social duty, and stood in the doorway. 

“ Shall you return there ? ” asked the old lady, of the 
young man when he took his seat by her on the worn- 
out sofa. 

“ By no means,” was his reply. 

Antonine approached, without showing any embar- 
rassment, or timidity, and took a seat by Dournof. The 


56 THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 

ladies talked among themselves, and the young man 
bent over his old friend. 

“ Do you know, they have just refused to give her to 
me ? ” he said, in a low tone. 

“What do you say? exclaimed Madame Frakine, in 
astonishment. 

“They refused, because I would not go into busi- 
ness.” 

“ I do not understand,” said the good woman a second 
time, more stupefied than ever. 

Dournof could not help laughing. 

“ It is the fact, but that does not prevent our loving 
each other, does it, Antonine ? ” 

His position of accepted suitor gave him a certain 
assurance ; he had no longer any fear of betraying him- 
self, but felt a kind of pleasure in evincing his love for 
the young girl. 

“Well! what will you do, my poor children?” said 
Madame Frakine, looking at them with compassion. 

“We will wait,” replied Dournof, gaily. While no 
one was observing them, he quietly took Antonine’s 
hand and held it in the jjresence of the benevolent, 
kind-hearted old lady. “We love each other enough to 
wait.” 

“ And how long ? ” 

“ God only knows ! ” replied Dournof, tossing back 
his hair. “ Give me a waltz I ” As he spoke, he dropped 
Antonine’s hand, passed his arm around her waist, and 
glided in and out among those who could find no 
partners. 


THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 67 

“ Are you dancing already ? ” asked a most unchari- 
table comrade, alluding to his recent mourning. 

“ ‘ Vita nuova^ my dear,” replied Dournof, over his 
shoulder : “ I was a caterpillar, now I am a butterfly. 
One must enjoy pleasure where he can find it.” 

Giving this rather enigmatical response, he began 
waltzing with such spirit, that no one could suppose 
that he had any other aim in life than to whirl around 
the salon. 

When it was time to leave, Jean Karzof, who arrived 
very late, after the Italian Opera, which he loved pas- 
sionately, went with his sister and a group of young 
people who all lived near together. Dournof accom- 
panied them, and soon taking advantage of a moment 
when his friend was interested in an animated conversa- 
tion, he drew nearer to Antonine. The night was 
so beautiful, the Karzofs’ house so near, that they were 
walking, and the betrothed couple had a few moments 
to converse. 

“I must become accustomed to my new position,” 
said Dournof. “ I am like a Colonel without a regiment, 
a Parson without a parish, an engaged man without a 
jlanc^eP 

Antonine turned quickly towards him, and he read, 
under the shade of the hood which covered her head, 
a reproachful look in her eyes. 

“ I am without a fiancee in the eyes of others. I can 
openly declare I love you, but can I say you love me ?” 

She hesitated a moment, and then responded, frankly : 

“ You can say so, since it is true.” 


58 THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 

Dournof gazed at her and felt proud of her. 

“I think,” continued the J'oung girl, “that it is best 
to trust in the friendship and honor of those around us ; 
if we appear to doubt them, something malicious will 
be told my parents; whereas, if we conceal nothing, I 
am sure they will be only too ready to help us.” 

“ You are right,” exclaimed Dournof, struck with 
the juvenile logic of this audacious reasoning ; “ let us 
commence immediately.” 

“ Friends ! ” said he, in a loud voice. 

The five young men who were near him turned 
towards him. 

“ You, Jean,” said Dournof; “you know I love your 
sister. Your parents have refused to give her to me ; 
you are grieved at this refusal; for, until the present 
time, we have lived together like brothers ” 

“ And this will continue until the end of our lives,” 
interrupted Jean. 

“Your sister will not submit to this decree of her 
parents ” 

“She is right,” said Jean, drawing his sister’s arm 
through his own. 

“ Hear ! All of you, my friends, who would be glad to 
have any assistance in a similar position ! I now declare 
that Antonine and I consider ourselves engaged, while 
awaiting the time when a change of fortune will permit 
me to claim her. We tell you this news, because we 
consider your friendship and respect entitled to frank- 
ness on our part. Will you protect us against calumny, 
and warn us when we are in danger ? ” 


THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 59 


“We swear,” said a youthful voice, trembling with 
suppressed emotion, “to defend Youth and Love against 
the obstinacy of selfish Old Age ! ” 

“ We swear it ! ” repeated the others. 

They were then on one of the numerous bridges 
which cross the canals of St. Petersburg ; the city 
was asleep. One could just hear in the distance the 
rumbling of a belated carriage ; their fresh young voices 
rang through the keen night air. 

“ Hurrah ! ” they cried, gaily, as they started off on a 
march. 

“You will be arrested for your nocturnal disturb- 
ance,” said Jean; “but I am, nevertheless, infinitely 
obliged to you.” 

“ And I, also,” added Antonine, in her sweet voice, 
— extending her hand to each one of her defenders 
in succession. 

Had any one of that little band been charmed with 
her beauty after that night, he would have buried the 
secret in his own breast, since they all considered her 
as belonging, from that time, to Dournof. They all 
stood equally ready to protect her from gossip ; and 
Antonine felt their friendship was to be relied upon. 

While Youth was thus plotting against Age, Monsieur 
and Madame Karzof were still awake and awaiting the 
return of their children, while at the same time revolving 
in their minds certain projects. They talked by the dim 
light of the lamp burning before the Holy Images. 

“ Do you know, my dear,” said Madame Karzof, look- 


60 THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 


ing dreamily at her night-dress which hung upon a nail 
at the end of the room, — it was generally upon this 
object she gazed when she reflected, — “ do you know, I 
have watched Antonine when Dournof was talking. 
She is not in love with him ; if she were, she would not 
have received our refusal with such indifference.” 

“ But,” observed Monsieur Karzof, with more wisdom 
than one would have expected from him, “ perhaps her 
way of being in love is different from others.” 

“How foolish! all young girls are alike. Do you 
remember little Verashine — they wanted to marry her 
to the son of the minister at Kazan ? How she wept, 
groaned, refused to eat anything I There was such a 
fuss at their house, her mother had to come here to 
get some rest, for that demon of a daughter would not 
allow her to sleep at home. Well I that didn’t prevent 
her marrying, six months afterwards, a man well estab- 
lished in business at Apanages I That is what I call 
being in love. But Antonine — oh, no I ” 

“So much the better,” added Karzof; “it reflects 
credit upon her good sense, and the training you have 
given her.” 

“I think. Monsieur Karzof, for fear our daughter 
should fall in love with some dandy, that it would be 
wise to marry her as soon as possible ; she is nineteen.” 

“ I am willing,” said M. Karzof ; “but to whom?” 

“Ah — that’s the question!” said the mother, with 
eyes still fixed upon the unconcerned night-dress, — “it 
is your place to look out. In your office there must be 


THE THKEE TROUBLED HEADS. 61 


some one — there are so many marriageable men down 
in town.” 

“Yes,” replied Karzof; but they have no money.” 

“ The young ones have none, perhaps, but the older 
have.” 

“ Would you marry Antonine to an old man?” added 
M. Karzof, with a dubious air. 

“ How much older are you than I ? ” retorted the 
wife victoriously, as she turned towards him. 

^ “ Eighteen years, I believe,” the good man replied. 

“Have I ever made you unhappy?” 

“No ! certainly not ! ” Karzof exclaimed. “ But that 
is not the same thing ! ” he added, promptly. 

“We were well matched,” replied Madame Karzof. 
“ Heavens ! if I could only find for Antonine a man 
like you, I would be happy ! ” 

Whereupon, the husband and wife commenced to 
f think over their acquaintances who might aspire to 
Antonine’s hand. The ears of thirty bachelors must 
have tingled that night, men who had no more interest 
in Antonine than in a new-born infant. 

The result of this examination was, the decision that 
during the following week they would give a ball, 
where a number of well selected, unmarried men, would 
be invited, to admire their daughter. 

Just as the husband and wife were preparing to 
dream on this resolution, they heard a slight noise, 
which announced their children’s return. Antonine’s 
little laugh, as she said good-night to her brother, con- 
firmed Madame Karzof in her former belief. 


62 THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 

“You see Antonine is not thinking of Dournof,” she 
concluded, “ since you hear her laugh.” And the good 
woman slept peacefully that night. 

Her daughter went into her room however, and 
instead of undressing, sat down on a small sofa, and 
with bowed head, reflected sadly. 

“Well, my beauty,” said Niania to her — she always 
waited for her young mistress, no matter how late she 
came in, and never allowed the girl to retire without 
making the sign of the cross over her to drive away 0 
bad dreams — “ you are not undressing ? are you not 
sleepy ? ” 

Antonine started. 

“ Pardon me, Niania,” said she. “ I have made you 
wait, and you must be tired.” 

She arose immediately, and placed herself in the 
hands of the faithful servant, who carefully combed her 
long and beautiful tresses, which fell in profusion over # 
her lovely shoulders. Niania was proud of this soft, 
brown hair ; patiently brushing it twice each day lest it 
should lose its lustre, and never allowed any hand but 
her own to touch her darling’s head. When Madame 
Karzof wished occasionally to send for a hair-dresser, she 
had a regular battle with Niania, and if she came out of 
the struggle victorious, it was because she sent her to 
the kitchen and shut the door in her face. 

“Well, my jewel,” said the old servant, gently; 
“your parents have not accepted your lover? They 
have refused to give him our dove ? ” 


THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 63 


“ Yes,” sighed Antonine. 

“ And what do yon say ? ” asked the old nurse. 

“ I say that I will marry him, or no one.” 

Niania was silent, and shook her old gray head 
solemnly. 

“ They want to get you married,” she added in a 
moment. 

“ To whom ? ” asked Antonine, suddenly looking up. 

“•I don’t know ; they are seeking a husband for you, 
and intend giving a ball, and will endeavor to marry 
you as soon as possible.” 

“ What an idea ! Why do you think so ? ” 

“ I listened at the door while you were at Madame 
Frakine’s. And what does your friend say ? ” 

“ He agrees with me.” 

“ May God watch over you,” sighed Niania, “ for I 
see your life will not be a tranquil one ! ” 

Antonine went to bed; her nurse drew the covers 
over her, arranged the lamp, and retired, making signs 
of the cross in the air in order to drive away evil spirits. 
But the evil spirits were in the young girl’s heart. That 
silent anger struggling within her, sometimes almost 
made reason totter on her throne. If they had only left 
her alone, in peace, until Dournof had attained a posi- 
tion, she would have been a sweet, submissive daughter ; 
patient, notwithstanding her sorrow, and always re- 
spectful; — but they wanted to dispose of her hand 
without her consent ; they treated her love as a child- 
ish freak, and trifled with the man to whom she had 


64 THE THREE TROUBLED HEADS. 


given her heart. Antonine became so angry she could 
no longer remain calm, but jumped up, walked several 
times around her room, and, at last, knelt piously before 
the Images at the foot of her bed. 

“ Holy mother of God ! ” said she aloud, extending 
her hands to the image of the Virgin with the child in 
her arms ; “ I swear I will be his, or no one ’s. If I 
must die in keeping my vow, I will die.” 

She remained some time prostrated in prayer. .The 
cold, still air chilled her; she shivered, then arose, 
throwing back her dishevelled hair as she returned to ^ 
her couch to dream. 




MANOEUVRING MAMMAS. 


65 


CHAPTER IV. 

MANOEUVRING MAMMAS. 

M adame KARZOF continued to watch her daugh- 
ter attentively, but Antonine was most discreet. 
Dournof came without restraint to see Jean, spending 
most of the time in the young man’s room, only passing 
through the salon. Antonine received him cordially, as 
if the subject of marriage had never been broached 
between them. The most evil disposed could not find 
fault with this conduct, so that Madame Karzof, think- 
ing all danger over, gave herself up to the preparations 
for the projected fHe. 

While she was making a tour of preparatory visits, 
she received numerous compliments for her daughter, 
and more hints from manoeuvering dames, who were as 
anxious to marry off their young men friends as was 
Madame Karzof to settle Antonine. Where there is 
demand and supply, it is easy to make a bargain. In 
this great matrimonial mart, there is occasionally a 
superfluity of men, but more frequently of maidens. In 
this case, tact must be displayed, by keeping the goods 
in stock until there is a demand. Very advantageous 
marriages have been concluded in twenty -four hours, 
when an Ambassador desires an Ambassadress to aid 
in representing the republic at Monomotapo ; then there 
4 


66 


MANCEUYKING MAMMAS. 


have been non-marrying men, given np as hopeless by 
the most dexterous match-makers, to find a wife without 
making an effort, because they had chosen the right mo- 
ment, which in everything is the most important point. 

At the time that Madame Karzof determined to 
marry Antonine, there was a grand reunion of young 
ladies the preceding Christmas, and those who let 
their opportunities slip by, remained single. The 
good woman received many extraordinary compliments 
upon the attractions, beauty, and intelligence of her 
daughter ; and in the six houses which she visited the 
first day of her tour, she found four aspirants, not that 
these four showed any particular desire to marry Anto- 
nine, but these men would have no objection to marry a 
pretty woman with a handsome fortune, or even a hand- 
some fortune without the indispensable complement. 

Madame Karzof returned home quite triumphant. 

“Since it is thus,” said she to her husband, when, 
they were alone, “ we will invite them all, and we will 
be very difiScult to please. We have a right to the 
selection at least. 

The second day was even more favorable than the 
first, for she met among the victims sacrificed to her 
maternal pride, some one who had seen, positively seen, 
Antonine, and who had asked for her personally, yes, 
personally ! Not for some young lady well brought up, 
with money, but for Mademoiselle Karzof herself, just 
as she was I Madame Karzof grew a cubit in stature 
that day. We should be very sorry if the reader for a 
moment supposed that in Russia such questions were 


MANCEUYRING MAMMAS. 


67 


settled in this way. It would be the height of vulgarity, 
except among trades -people ; with the higher, more 
intelligent classes, it was different. Madame Karzof 
thus welcomed her friends : 

“ How do you do, my dear Anastasie Petrowna ! 
How long it is since I had the pleasure of seeing you!” 

“ At least six weeks ! I should have paid you a visit, 
but ” 

“ Not at all I it is I who owe you a visit I ” 

“You think so I I am very glad, but we will not 
count visits between us I Well, what is the news ? ” 

“Not much ; the Morofs have married their son, you 
know ” 

“ Yes, yes, that is an old story ; and your pretty 
Antonine, when will you marry her ? ” 

“ Oh I we are in no hurry, thank God I She is no 
burden to us, she is such a sweet, lovable child, always 
just as you see her, and has never given us an hour’s 
sorrow in her life. I do not believe I have ever said a 
reproachful word to her I ” 

“ How happy you should be, my friend I I have not 
been so fortunate in my daughters ; they are married 
now, it is true, but they gave me much trouble in their 
education. There was a time when I talked as you do.” 

The two mothers laughed, but the laugh of one had 
not the ring of sincerity. 

“We intend to give a ball next week,” replied 
Madame Karzof, a little piqued ; “ do you know any 
nice men, well brought up, who would like to come ? ” 

“ To your house, indeed I do ; you can find as many 


68 


MANCEUYRING MAMMAS. 


dancing men as you want, when they know they will 
have a good time! I will bring N., X., M., T., M., Z., 
etc. ; but if you do not want to marry Antonine this 
year, I will not bring M. Titolof.” 

“ Why, my dear ! ” 

“ Because he is madly in love with your charming 
daughter. He saw her at the last assembly, and tried 
all the evening to be presented. Unfortunately I was 
not there, and, although he met plenty who were will- 
ing to talk about you, and your family, there was not 
one willing to act the ehaperoney 

“ What an idea I he might have found some one I 
should say. What a timid man your M. Titolof must 
be I How old is he?” 

“ About thirty-five, I believe ; he has already the rank 
of Civil General, and the cross of St. Anne.” 

“ So has my husband ! ” exclaimed Madame Karzof ; 
“ So young ! — has he any fortune ? ” 

“ He is not a millionaire, but he has about three thou- 
sand roubles income, and together with his salary, he 
ought to have about six thousand roubles.” 

“ That is not to be despised,” said Madame Karzof, 
seriously. “Goodness! how many aspirants! There 
will be plenty ! In the last eight days, at least a dozen 
have been proposed.” 

It is thus that marriages are made. It is said that 
those who marry their own daughters the worst, are 
the most anxious to conclude matches for others, 
whether it is ‘out of a spirit of vengeance or from some 
other sentiment has not yet been ascertained. 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


69 


CHAPTER V. 

CROSS PURPOSES. 

T he result of all these visits — without counting two 
whole days spent in preparing for this entertain- 
ment, the procuring extra servants, the supper, ices, tea, 
and Antonine’s toilet — was excessive fatigue, which so 
overpowered Madame Karzof, about an hour before 
dinner, on the day of the ball, that she nearly fainted. 

It was too late to give up the plan, consequently the 
unhappy mother — a sacrifice on Duty’s altar — donned 
her best lilac silk dress, now growing too small for her 
— as she so seldom wore it, — and took her stand at the 
door of the salon to receive the guests. 

Many young ladies came with their mammas, tlie 
young men were alone. Antonine was soon surrounded 
by admirers — some serious, others only flirting. 

The young girl had taken off the jewelry with which 
her mother had decked her, much to the annoyance of 
the good dame, and stood calm and pale, dressed in pure 
white, receiving with perfect indifference the attentions 
of these numerous acquaintances. The band of allies, 
with Jean Karzof for a leader, stood off a little distance, 
enjoying this by-play. 

They began to dance, when one of the serious admirers, 
a man of forty, bald and stiff, wearing a pair of gold 


70 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


spectacles on his flat nose, came np to claim Antonine 
for the first waltz. Jean quietly led her to the other 
end of the room. 

“Oh! Jean!” exclaimed Madame Karzof, “what an 
impudent fellow you are ! ” 

This rather inelegant exclamation was only heard by 
the young man, who was apparently very busy. He so 
manoeuvred, that he managed to pass Antonine over to 
Dournof, without taking her back to her place. 

This little strategy which the “ allies ” understood at 
once, succeeded perfectly. After two turns in the 
waltz, Dournof brought Antonine to a chair, quite near 
her mother ; but the moment the spectacles were seen 
approaching the spot, one of Antonine’s defenders would 
lead her off again, then pass her over to another, until 
the waltz was finished. 

In Russia, it is the height of impropriety to dance the 
entire dance with the same lady, unless it is a quadrille. 
It is the custom to make one or two rounds if the salon 
is small, only one if it is large, then the lady is con- 
ducted back to her seat, where she can have the choice 
of other partners. This custom, certainly less fatiguing 
than the French, allows every one the privilege of danc- 
ing during the evening ; therefore Antonine found many 
opportunities of escaping from her mother’s ‘proUgh, 

“ Listen ! ” said Madame Karzof, angrily, to the young 
girl, who was arranging a quadrille — “ don’t dance with 
those youths — your brother’s friends — you see them 
every day ; but when respectable, serious men come up, 
you must dance with them. Do you understand? ” 


CKOSS PURPOSES. 


71 


f Antonine bowed and ran off. 

When the first notes of the “ contre-danse ” struck up, 
the mother was horrified to see her daughter dancing 
with one of the same fellows. She gave her an annihil- 
ating glance ; but it was lost upon the girl, like all the 
rest. 

“ Why did you disobey me ?” asked Madame Karzof, 
as she joined her daugliter in the dining-room, when 
the music ceased. 

“But, mamma, it was not my fault if Matvdief in- 
vited me first ! I did not know whether that stout man 
would ask me.” 

“ Stout man ! ” repeated the indignant mother. 

“ Yes ; the one with the spectacles. Can anybody 
dance at his age ? ” 

After giving this sharp thrust to her mother, Anto- 
nine flew away, like a butterfly. 

Ten o’clock struck, and the phoenix among the aspi- 
rants — the General of thirty-five, decorated with the 
order of St. Anne — had not yet arrived. 

Madame Karzof looked anxiously at her daughter, 
who would persist in dancing with those “ young fel- 
lows,” then towards the door ; but she recognized only 
familiar faces coming in and out. Finally, the dear 
friend arrived, dressed in a superb blue silk — a blue 
that would put a June sky to the blush. Following in 
her train, almost entangled in the folds of her dress, 
was General Titolof. 

“ Oh, oh ! ” said Dournof, in an undertone, standing 
behind Antonine ; “ this is serious ! ” 


72 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


General Titolof was a man about thirty-five — per- 
haps thirty-seven and eleven months — of fine bearing, 
and rather inclined to corpulency. He had a handsome 
head, with grey eyes, black moustache, eyelashes and 
brows; his hair, which w^as always “/me” and well- 
pomaded, was also black ; his linen was spotless ; vest 
somewhat dazzling — a suit of the best broadcloth, 
straw-colored gloves and a crush hat, with his coronet 
and initials within. All this was perfect ; so fine, that 
Karzof gave Dournof a thump in the ribs that made 
him jump a foot from the floor. 

“ How do you compare with that old bird there ? ” 
said he ; “ why, you are not worthy to buckle his 
vest ! ” 

“ I would buckle it a trifle too tight,” replied Dournof, 
seriously, as he contemplated the indisputable good 
looks of the General. 

“ I want to see if he mews or if he barks,” said Jean ; 
“ it is impossible that such a head speaks with a human 
voice like you and me.” 

Titolof, still following the blue silk dress, had now 
reached Madame Karzof. 

“General Titolof, my friend, and my husband’s,” 
said the blue dress, as she presented him. 

Titolof drew his heels together, made an unexcep- 
tionable bow, straightened himself up, and the second 
time bent over the plump, white hand of Madame Karzof 
and imprinted a kiss upon it. 

“ Delighted, delighted ! ” murmured the good woman, 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


73 


turning around as stiffly as her weariness would pennit. 
‘‘ Allow me to make you acquainted with my family, — 
my husband ” 

The husband bowed. 

“ My son Jean ’’ 

Jean Karzof had just asked the leader to play a polka, 
and the salon resounded with the melodious chords of 
the dance. Jean bowed before the gentleman, who 
returned it by shaking hands d VAnglaise, 

“ Where is my daughter, Jean?” 

“ Over there, mamma,” replied the young man, 
respectfully. 

Antonine was indeed “over there” — dancing the 
polka with one of those “young fellows.” Madame 
Karzof gave her a withering glance as she passed, lean- 
ing on the arm of the spectacled man, but the expression 
changed when she looked up into the General’s face. 

“You shall see her very soon. General. Come this 
way.” 

“ Most happy,” said the General, in a suave voice. 

Jean went off to join his friends, bursting with 
laughter. 

“ He does not mew,” said he ; “he brays.” 

Antonine came towards her mother, when the presen- 
tation took place. 

“ I have been desirous of meeting you, mademoiselle,” 
said the General, in a low tone ; “ the impression which 
you have made upon me is indelible.” 

Antonine bowed slightly, as much as to say, “ Enough 
already I ” Titolof added ; 


74 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


“ I should be so happy if your pretty lips would con- 
firm a permission which I have received from your 
mother.” 

Antonine looked at her mother. Alas ! that permis- 
sion was too plainly written in the smile which lighted 
up Madame Karzof ’s face. 

“ Nina ! answer I She is timid ; ” added the mamma, 
looking up at the General. 

“I do not know what permission my mother has 
given,” said Antonine, flushing at her own audacity. 

“ To offer you my most respectful homage ” 

“Antonine!” cried Jean Karzof in a loud tone; 
“ you are wanted I ” 

The young girl bowed, saying, “ please excuse me I ” 
then disappeared. 

“ These girls ! ” said her mother, smiling, “ are so 
timid, when they have been well brought up I I am 
sure nothing will ever spoil my Antonine.” 

General Titolof and Madame Karzof retired to the 
lady’s sleeping room, converted for the occasion into a 
boudoir, when they had one of those matrimonial con- 
versations, which generally terminates with these words : 
“ It was God who sent you across my path ! ” All 
mothers-in-law start out thus, and sons-in-law commence 
this way. 

Titolof danced several times with Antonine, as the 
inexorable mamma almost held her by the skirts, until 
the General came forward and offered his arm. The 
cotillon followed supper, according to custom, and even 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


75 


at that last moment Antonine had scarcely exchanged 
twenty words with her cavalier. She danced with 
him, but was always so ready for a figure that he had 
no chance to talk ; he was, however, delighted with 
himself and with his irreproachable conduct and man- 
ners, while the girl had the satisfaction of knowing that 
she had not spoken five words to him. 

Dournof carried away in the glove of his left hand, a 
little note in pencil, containing these words : 

“ I have sworn before the Holy Image to be yours, 


76 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


CHAPTER VL 

DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 

F ifteen days passed thus ; the month of February 
was drawing to a close, and the last fetes of the 
Carnival caused great excitement in the town. General 
Titolof at first came every other day — then every day ; 
finally he was invited to dinner, and what a dinner ! the 
cook had never spent such a hard day! However, 
Antonine gained one point ; she had kept up her Satur- 
days at Madame Frakine’s. The despised Titolof had 
never been invited to the good lady’s, and Madame 
Karzof attached so little attention to the receptions, that 
she did not think it worth while to present him herself. 

This one night of freedom, so different from the con- 
strained and ceremonious evenings which the persistent 
suitor imposed upon her, made an extraordinary impres- 
sion on the young girl. Scarcely had she come within 
the reach of the familiar sound of the piano and the buzz 
of youthful voices, of which many were dear to her, 
than she lost all self-possession; her courage failed 
her for a moment and she burst into tears, in the mid- 
dle of the salon. 

The young people present — there was not a single 
mamma in the room — crowded around her; the young 
men to protest, the young girls to question and caress 
her. 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


77 


“What is the matter, Antonine? Has any one 
grieved you ? Can we do anything for you ? ” 

These questions and many others were thrust upon 
her, as she leaned on the shoulder of an intimate 
friend, trying in vain to check her tears. 

“Jean! Where is Jean?” asked some one. Jean 
was at the Italian Opera, as usual, on Saturday nights. 
Dournof, who had just arrived, towered above the 
entire group, and advanced towards Antonine. 

“ I know what is the matter with her. They want to 
force her to marry a man whom she detests, ” said he, 
in a loud voice ; and passing his arm around the young 
girl he led her to a sofa, and sat down near her. 

“ It is you she loves I ” they exclaimed on all sides. 

“ Certainly I ” replied Dournof, promptly ; “ and she 
will never marry that General with his decorations.” 

“ No, no I ” exclaimed the young men, in chorus. 

“ Go on, amuse yourself,” said Dournof, with a cer- 
tain authority, which he indisputably possessed in this 
little world, where he was the chief leader, “ we are 
going to settle it between ourselves, quietly.” 

While the quadrilles were forming, Madame Frakine, 
with her good heart, tried to comfort the poor child, 
but there was no possible remedy for her ill. 

Madame Karzof was too determined upon this bril- 
liant marriage to renounce it ; her future son-in-law had 
Avon her through her vanity : he had lost his mother, 
and naturally his mother-in-law would assist his wife in 
doing the honors of his house ! 


78 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


Titolof had a great deal of very fine family silver, his 
apartment was well furnished, with carpets and mirrors 
everywhere. 

Madame Karzof had been to see it, and had come 
back perfectly enchanted. 

“ What do you hope to do ? ” asked the good woman, 
of the crushed young girl. 

“ I will say — no — forever no, — even at the steps of 
the altar. What more can I do ? ” 

During the following week Antonine had not a 
minute to herself, except in the evenings. While Niania 
was combing her long hair at night, she wrote long 
letters to Dournof, and re-read those daily received 
from him. 

The old servant, standing behind her, trying to be as 
gentle as possible, so as not to disturb her darling child, 
would watch Antonine’s fingers run over the paper, and 
the tears fall on the written pages ; Niania was deeply 
grieved to think she could do nothing for her young 
mistress. 

One evening, Antonine, tired of suppressing her sor- 
row, laid her head on her arms, which were crossed 
upon the toilet table, while Niania braided her silken 
hair; the young girl, crying as if her heart would 
break, felt two scalding drops fall upon her neck ; sud- 
denly lifting her head, she looked up at her old nurse, 
who was bending over her, streams of tears were pouring 
from those weary eyes, down those withered cheeks. 

“Don’t weep, Niania,” said Antonine, “it will do no 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


79 


“Not cry, my darling!” said the faithful nurse, 
“ when I see you putting out your dear eyes by sobbing 
all night ! I would gladly grow blind from weeping, if 
that would restore your old gayety. Yes, I would weep 
all your tears until the end of my days, if God willed 
it. I would lose my eternal salvation, if it would make 
you any happier I ” 

Antonine put her two arms around the poor servant’s 
neck, and said : 

“You are more of a mother to me than my own 
mother.” 

“Yes, indeed,” cried Niania; ^‘except to bring you 
into the world, your mother has never done anything 
for you. Who has watched over you in sickness, 
soothed you in your little troubles, laughed and cried 
with you in your infancy? Who is it cares for you 
now and knows all your griefs? You are right, my 
dear, it is I who am your true mother I You can at 
least weep before me; but your mother forbids tears 
because they spoil your eyes. Weep, my beauty I let 
us weep together. Perhaps the good Lord will be 
moved.” 

The following day was Saturday. Madame Karzof 
came the next morning to her daughter’s room and 
attentively watched the operation of dressing her hair. 
Antonine had sent for a very simple dress, which she 
wore ordinarily ; but her mother put it aside and 
selected another, much lighter in color, particularly 
gay and conspicuous ; she added a knot of rose-colored 


80 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


ribbon to ber daughter’s hair, and, after examining her 
carefully, embraced her more affectionately than usual, 
and led her into her own room. 

“ You know, Antonine,” said she, sitting down by 
her, “ it is the duty of all young girls to be submissive 
to their parents, who know what is best for them ; you 
have been an obedient daughter, you will be a good 
wife and mother. The time has arrived for you to 
leave the paternal roof, and I hope you will never 
forget the pains we have taken to assure your happi- 
ness. General Titolof will come to-day to ask your 
hand in marriage, you will consent, and we will give 
you both our blessing. 

Antonine arose : 

“ Mother,” said she, prostrating herself three times 
in the ancient fashion, “you know I love Dournof. 
Do not force me to marry a man against my will.” 

“That is nonsense!” exclaimed Madame Karzof; 
“ you do not love him.” 

“ I love him and am engaged to him ! We are wil- 
ling to wait, and only ask a little patience from you. 
Spare us this misery, and we will bless you.” 

Madame Karzof was a little uneasy; she now dis- 
covered that she estimated too lightly the love of these 
two young persons, and realized how little she had 
understood her daughter’s character. She could not 
comprehend that Antonine’s gloominess, of late, was 
caused by this deeply-rooted love for Dournof, and 
was not the perversity of youth, as she had supposed.” 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


81 


“ One cannot love a beggar,” said she, angrily. “ How 
is it that you do not see he loves you for your money ? 
If you were poor ” 

“ Mother ! ” interrupted Antonine, with her eyes 
flashing, “ do not insult Dournof ; he is better than I. 
It is you who want to marry me to a general, because 
he is rich ! ” 

Madame Karzof started up, and the two women 
faced each other for a moment. If Madame Karzof 
did not slap her daughter’s face, it was because she 
found a more cruel way of wounding her. 

“ Dournof only wants your money,” she repeated, in 
a contemptuous tone. “ Men of his stamp are always 
looking for a rich girl.” 

“ Mother,” repeated Antonine ; “ do not abuse a 
worthy man; for I will marry him without fortune, 
and in spite of you ! ” 

Madame Karzof, infuriated, uttered a shrill laugh. 

“ If you marry him without money, he knows you 
will inherit it some day. This will be a death-blow to 
both of us, and we will curse you and your children.” 

Antonine staggered — her strength seemed to aban- 
don her — but she would not please her mother by 
showing herself conquered. Clinging to a chair, she 
looked up into Madame Karzof s face, and there saw 
the most violent anger and hatred. 

She could not look upon her daughter as part of her- 
self at this moment ; but regarded her as an ungrateful 
creature, who owed her everything, even life, and yet 
5 


82 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


who dared to defy her. Niania was right : women who 
only bring children into the world, are less mothers 
than those who rear them ; it is the joys and sorrows of 
maternity which make its real strength. 

“ So be it, mother,” said Antonine, without dropping 
her eyes. “I will not marry Dournof without your 
consent, since you threaten me with such a cruel pun- 
ishment. Neither will I marry Titolof.” 

“ You will marry him at the end of Lent, or I will 
disown you.” 

“I will not marry him, mother; I would rather 
die.” 

“ One does not die in that way,” said Madame Kar- 
zof, smiling satirically ; “ I answered my mother in the 
same words thirty-seven years ago, when it was pro- 
posed that I should marry your father.” 

“ All natures are not alike,” said Antonine, slowly. 

“Fortunately; for I believe you are possessed by a 
demon, and it is Dournof who inspires you to this 
resistance. I should have forbidden him the house on 
the day that he made this ridiculous demand. You 
have both been conspiring against me, and I intend 
writing him never to show his face here again.” 

She sat down and hastily wrote a few lines, which 
she sent to Dournof. A thought came to her at the 
time : 

“ You see him at Madame Frakine’s, since she is so 
easy to please in the choice of those she receives, but 
you will not go there any more without me ; and more 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


83 


than this, if she wishes my friendship, she must close 
her doors to this fortune-hunter.” 

She dispatched a second note, almost as quickly as 
the first, then looked at her daughter, who stood before 
her : 

“ Go to your room ! ” said she, “ and reflect.” 

Titolof arrived in the afternoon; a table with the 
Holy Images had been prepared in the salon, where 
Monsieur and Madame Karzof awaited him. When he 
came, they sent for Antonine, who appeared, pale and 
trembling, but proud and defiant. 

When she heard this man ask officially for her hand, 
she felt like pleading with him — like telling him that 
she loved another. However, all outward demonstra- 
tion was so foreign to her nature, she tried to avoid a 
scene, which appeared to her foolish and unnatural. 
She determined to reason with him some time when 
they were alone. 

Monsieur and Madame Karzof answered for their 
daughter, who did not open her lips, and blessed the 
betrothed pair with the Holy Image. A conversation 
then followed between the three persons, which was so 
uninteresting and so dull, that the General made a pre- 
text to retire in a quarter of an hour, after respectfully 
kissing the lifeless hand of Antonine. As soon as he 
had left the apartment the young girl retired to her 
room, refusing to come to dinner. 

Whilst Monsieur and Madame Karzof, somewhat dis- 
concerted at this result, were taking their lonely meal, 


84 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 


Niania, who never served at table, slipped away to be 
near Antonine, and finding her completely overcome, 
and reclining in an arm-chair, gently kissed her hand. 

“ They have given you away, my angel,” said the old 
woman, to her adopted child. ^ 

“Yes,” replied Antonine, “but I will not marry 
him.” 

“ Alas ! my dearest,” sighed Niania, “ one can neither 
disobey the Czar, nor one’s parents.” 

“ Niania ! ” said Antonine, after a moment’s silence, 
“ I must see Dournof ! ” 

“Well! my beauty, you will see him this evening, at 
Madame Frakine’s I ” 

“I cannot go to Madame Frakine’s, my mother is 
afraid of my seeing him there.” “ Niania,” continued 
Antonine, straightening herself up, and looking at 
her old nurse, “ I must see Dournof to-day.” 

“Good Lord! How?” cried Niania, raising her 
hands to heaven. 

“ That is my affair,” said Antonine, looking earnestly 
at her ; “ go, and tell my mother, that I want to go to 
vespers this afternoon ! ” 

“To vespers! that is a happy thought, my dear; 
prayer will calm your poor afflicted soul. I will go at 
once.” 

In a few minutes, Niania returned, bringing the 
desired permission; the hour for vespers was not far 
off. Antonine changed her showy costume, tore from 
her hair the pink ribbon her mother had placed there. 


DESPERATE RESOLUTIONS. 85 

and washed the hand which Titolof had kissed. She 
was then ready for Niania. 

About seven o’clock Niania appeared, duly equipped, 
bringing a cloak, which her young mistress lost no time 
in putting on. They went out together, but before 
going very far, Niania stopped Antonine, and said : 

“ You mistake the way, my dear, the church is here.” 

“We will go to the church later,” said Antonine, 
“ follow me.” 

Niania took a few steps, but was soon compelled to 
run to keep up with the young girl. 

“ My little dear, where are you going ? ” she asked, 
timidly. 

“You said you would peril your soul for me,” re- 
plied Antonine ; “ follow me now, without asking any 
more questions.” 

Niania acquiesced ; and breathed not another word. 

Antonine crossed two or three thoroughfares, then, 
without hesitation, turned into a narrow, dark street, 
which she had often traversed during the winter — 
— entered a humble dwelling, went up a stone stair- 
case until she reached the second floor; there she rang 
the bell violently. The door opened, and a ray of 
light fell upon Antonine’s uncovered head. 

“ Antonine I God bless you ! ” cried Dournof, and 
without further speaking, he took the young girl in 
his arms. 

Niania carefully closed the door, and followed them 
to the saloui 


86 


AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH. 


CHAPTER VIL 

AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH. 

D OURNOF’S little parlor, where he had taken his 
fiancSe^ was an uninviting room. A few plants 
stood on the window sill, and seemed to make it 
brighter ; a small desk, covered with papers, heaps of 
books and journals on the floor, a cup of tea on the 
table ; such was a bachelor’s quarters I 

Dournof soared above terrestrial miseries, for when 
Antonine was near he felt neither any wrong or wrath. 
Niania stood in the doorway, looking at them, and wept 
silently; she knew from the emotion shown in that 
meeting, how serious and profound was the love of 
those two young persons. 

Finally, Dournof ofl'ered Antonine a chair, which 
was covered with papers like every thing else, but he 
pushed some aside, and made room for Antonine, 
placing himself opposite. Niania always stood, of 
course, in the presence of her superiors. 

“I came,” said Antonine, timidly, ‘‘because I was 
anxious to talk with you ; my mother has insulted you, 
and I want to ask your pardon.” 

Dournof was indifferent to the insults of others, so 
long as he was certain of Antonine ’s love. 

“We can no longer see each other,” said the young 


AN OLD KOAD TO CHU-RCH. 87 

girl, “ my mother says I can never go out without her ; 
I told her this evening I was going to vespers. That 
will do for once.” 

She was silent. The idea of not seeing Dournof was 
so painful to her, she had forgotten the other danger, 
that of the marriage they were going to force upon her. 

“ What does all this mean ? ” questioned the young 
man. 

“ Titolof has asked my hand in marriage,” said she, 
looking up at him. 

‘‘Well?” 

“ And they have consented ! ” 

“ It is impossible ! ” cried Dournof, as he sprang to 
his feet, “ they could not have done that ! ” 

“ But it is precisely what they have done.” 

“ Did you not resist ? ” 

“ I told my mother I would rather die than marry 
him.” 

“ What did she say ? ” 

“ She said all young girls talked in that way.” 

Dournof, with folded arms, walked back and forth 
the narrow room, lighted by one flickering candle ; his 
head was bowed, as if to suppress the bitter words that 
Antonine might not hear. After making several tours 
around the salon, he stopped in front of the young girl, 
and said : 

“ Antonine, let us go away, immediately ; my mother 
will receive us ; we can be married there. Will you do 
this?” 


88 


AN OLD KOAD TO CHURCH. 


He still stood before her, with his arms folded. 

“ No,” said Antonine,” looking at him with a heart- 
broken expression. “ She has threatened me with her 
curse, if I do this.^ 

“ And by what right ? What right has that unfeel- 
ing mother, who wants to sacrifice her child for her own 
pride and interest, to threaten with her malediction a 
faithful soul for being unwilling to sell itself? God 
will not listen to her ! ” 

Antonine wrung her hands, but did not speak. 

“ Then you mean to marry this ridiculous man ? ” 

“ No,” said the young girl. 

He commenced walking again, as he said : 

“ I have determined this day to leave my work, and 
seek for a place in an office.” 

Antonine arose, and said, with authority, “ I do not 
wish you to do this.” 

“And why?” 

“Your career is elsewhere; I will not marry you if 
you show such weakness, for, when one has a grand 
thought, neither Fortune or Woman should tempt one 
to abandon it. Suffer, rather, and die ! ” 

“ Antonine ! ” exclaimed Dournof, prostrating him- 
self before her ; “ you are more than saint, you are a 
martyr ! ” 

The young girl looked down sadly upon her friend 
as he knelt, and laying her hand on his dark curls, 
said, 

“ I love you, and I wish you to be a great man.” 


AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH. 


89 


“ Then follow me ; ” replied her lover. “I shall never 
be great except with yon, and for you. Alone, my life 
will be nothing ! ” 

“ You worked before you knew, and loved me,” she 
said, gently ; “ you have still the same aim and ambi- 
tion in life.” 

Dournof assented, humbled indeed ; then continued. 

“ Antonine, you are a thousand times better than I. 
Before I knew you, I was only a child, now I am a 
man. Do you know what makes me so happy ? The 
serious thoughts you have inspired — ^from the day you 
promised to marry me, I have changed entirely. I 
have dreamed of the fireside I must prepare for you, 
of the difficulties of the life I have asked you to share. 
Often have I suppressed thoughts which seemed un- 
worthy of you — for the temptations of youth are many 
— but I would not disturb your peace of mind. More 
than once, money has been offered me which I did not 
think fairly earned ; but once I came very near giving 
way, for I was so poor at the time of your fete, Anto- 
nine, that I racked my brain to find means enough to 
buy you a trifling gift. Yet, I resisted, destitute as I 
was, and it was neither my principles nor my education 
that restrained me — it was my love for you. Had I 
yielded, I never would have dared tell you the truth. 
Are you not my conscience, Antonine, my honor ? 
Tell me then how I can live without you ! ” 

She turned upon him eyes swimming with tears of 
pride and jo3^ 


90 


AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH. 


“ Ah! ” she said, “you console me for all my griefs.” 

They gazed at each other a moment, forgetting their 
many sorrows. 

“ You are a good man I ” said Mania’s voice at the 
door. 

They started, for they thought they were alone. 
This voice called them back to earth. 

“Ah!” sighed Antonine: “men like you are rare. 
It will be my life-long joy to have been loved by you ; 
but listen, Fdodor, there is something in this world 
besides a woman’s love. Have you not talked to me 
of your country ? Has she no need of devoted hearts 
— of disinterested patriots ? Those cankerous officers 
who are feeding upon her very vitals must be displaced 
by honest men, who work for the honor of being 
useful. Do you not want to be one of them ? ” 

Dournof pressed fervently the two hands which she 
extended towards him ; 

“ You must renounce me and love Russia. She w'ill 
return it.” 

“I will never renounce you,” said Dournof, in a 
calm but determined tone. 

“ If my parents object? ” 

“ I will run away with you in spite of yourself, and 
marry you by force.” 

“Fdodor,” said she, “you will not do it, my mother 
would disown me.” 

“ What difference does that make ? ” said he angrily. 

“ It would kill me ! I could not bear the shame.” 


AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH. 


91 


She was silent, and buried her face in her hands. 

Mania’s voice — herself unseen — 

“ Are you not ashamed, Fdodor Iramith,” said she ; 
“ to try to lead astray our pure dove ? You know a 
marriage would not be valid before God, without the 
parents’ consent, even if they have the priest’s blessing. 
W ould you tarnish the spotless name of our child — she, 
who speaks well and you ill ? A while ago you talked 
fairly enough, but evil seems to come now to your 
lips.” 

Niania said no more. The young people dropped 
their clasped hands, and stood before her like culprits. 

“ Adieu ; ” said Antonine to her friend, without 
lifting her eyes. 

“ No, not adieu ; ” he replied. You will he mine yet, 
and if your parents force you to marry Titolof — if 
you have not strength enough to resist, although you 
have kept me off — I will still claim you. Antonine 
Karzof might not he my wife, but I would run away 
with Madame Titolof.” 

Antonine shrank back, covering her face with her 
hands. 

“ Shame ! shame on you ! ” said the voice of Mania, 
from the darkness. “ You speak like a profane man.” 

“ So much the worse ! ” cried Dournof, almost beside 
himself : “ others live and prosper who do evil without 
excuse ; we will do likewise ; we, who wish to be good 
but are forced to do wrong.” 

“ You talk like a crazy man,” said Mania. “ If your 


92 


AN OLD ROAD TO CHURCH. 


mother could hear you, she would disown a son who 
insults his God, and his betrothed.” 

“ Pardon, pardon ! ” said Dournof. I am a misera- 
ble creature ; so unhappy, that I wish I was dead. 
Forgive me, Antonine ! ” 

Antonine offered him her hand, and made the sign of 
the cross on the young man’s breast. 

“ May God comfort you ! ” she said. “ I will try to 
do right. If I was only sure you would not be very 
unhappy ! ” 

“ Then you do not wish it ? ” said Dournof ; pressing 
her to his heart. 

“ Never ! without our parents’ consent.” 

“ I will ask them again,” said he ; “ in spite of their 
rudeness and injustice.” 

“They will not consent!” continued Antonine. 
They want a general for a son-in-law.” 

“ What will you do ? ” 

She smiled strangely, and said : 

“Fear nothing; they will never marry me against 
my will. I swear to you that I will never be Titolof ’s 
wife.” 

“ Do not swear,” said Mania ; “ you don’t know what 
you may do I ” 

“ I swear ! ” cried Antonine, kneeling before the Image 
in the corner of the room; “I swear, here, for the 
second time, never to be any one’s wife but Dournof’s.” 

“And I,” said the young man, swear to be faithful 
to Antonine until death ! ” 


AN OLD ROAD TO CnURCH. 


93 


“ That is not right, not right ! ” said Niania, emerg- 
ing from the darkness. “You must not make any vows. 
Come, my dove, come to church, and ask God to pardon 
this sin; and you, young man, — whose bitter words 
are sometimes good and sometimes bad, — your soul is 
not yet delivered from the wiles of a demon ; we will 
pray the Lord to deliver you ! ” 

“Farewell!” said Antonine, gently; “farewell my 
fianc^, until it is God’s will to unite us.” 

“ That will not be long,” replied Dournof. “ In one 
way or another ” 

“ Never,” repeated Antonine, “ without my mother’s 
permission. She has said she would curse my children, 
never ” 

He clasped her in his arms again, but without kissing 
her; then the two separated — Antonine passing out 
first, Niania following — making the sign of the cross, 
as if leaving a consecrated place. 

Dournof, now alone, gazed at the open door, without 
thinking of closing it. It seemed to him that all his 
happiness — even his very life-blood — had gone from 
him. A shudder passed through his frame ; then he 
decided to close the door. 

This made him feel more dreary than ever. He 
threw himself upon the spot where Antonine’s feet had 
trod, and wept bitterly — he who had never shed any 
tears — even in his deepest sorrows. 


94 


THE FEVEE OF IMPATIENCE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FEVEE OF IMPATIENCE. 

r'piME rolled on, and Madame Frakine came to see 
I Antonine. She was astonished to find her thin- 
ner, her eyes flashed and her cheeks, usually so pale, 
had now a brilliant color. 

“Has she not fever?” asked Madame Frakine of 
Madame Karzof, when Antonine left the room. 

“ No, indeed; why do you think she has fever?” 

“ These young girls,” said the old lady with some 
hesitation, “ sometimes fall ill when they are opposed.” 

“ But who opposes Antonine ? ” 

“You, my good friend. “Did you not tell me she 
loved Dournof?” 

“Ah! that childishness is over; it is a long time 
since she thought of that I ” 

Madame Karzof prevaricated knowingly; for every 
night, before retiring to rest, Antonine reiterated her 
supplications. Madame Frakine also knew it was a 
falsehood, for Dournof had confided to her their secret 
— at the same time begging her to give him all the 
intelligence in regard to the young girl as often as pos- 
sible; but what good was there in contradicting the 
lies of those who will not listen to the truth ? 


THE FEVER OF IMPATIENCE. 


95 


“ Then,” continued the worthy dame, “ you will marry 
her to Titolof?” 

“ Certainly — in five weeks — immediately after Lent. 
It will be a pretty wedding ; for my son-in-law under- 
stands doing things well.” 

“ And Antonine — what does she say about it?” 

“What should she say? Young girls never say 
anything.” 

“ I remember they did, in my young days,” replied 
Madame Frakine. 

“It used to be so ! ” said Madame Karzof ; “now they 
behave with more propriety.” 

“So much the worse!” said Madame Frakine, — 
“pardon me — I should say so much the better. And 
what does Antonine say ? ” 

“ But did I not tell you that she says nothing,” the 
mamma replied, impatiently ; “ nothing — absolutely 
nothing.” 

“ I understand,” said the old lady; “she says nothing 
at all to him ; and he — what does he say to her ?” 

Madame Karzof shrugged her shoulders; but her 
kind friend was in no mood to leave her without getting 
all the information she could in regard to Antonine; 
for she, poor girl ! was never left alone with anybody.” 

“ Would not your future son-in-law like to converse 
a little more with her?” 

“ I have said that M. Titolof is a true gentleman ; 
he consequently approves of this reserve, which is 
necessary at all times.” 


96 


THE FEYER OF IMPATIENCE. 


After taking this little revenge, Madame Karzof 
seemed willing to change the conversation, but her 
friend continued, with an innocent air : 

“ You mean to say that my dear dead husband and I 
were not of high lineage. My father was Comte 
Dorezof, however, and we have had the unfortunate 
custom, in my family, of marrying for love ; it is bad 
style, to be sure ! Among the aristocracy, they prefer 
marriages de convSnance^ — I confess that they are 
more fashionable. By-the-by, will your sweetmeats 
last till Spring? Would you believe that mine are all 
gone? It is true that the young people have helped 
me to get rid of them.” 

The chain once broken, Madame Karzof was not 
clever enough to return to the first topic of conver- 
sation; she tried very hard to bring in another bit 
of sarcasm; but her friend left before she found an 
opportunity. 

Antonine literally said not a word to Titolof. Any 
one else would have been embarrassed ; but the Gen- 
eral was a man who never lost his self-possession. He 
had heard of an excellent position, but a married 
man only could fill it — a married man always inspires 
his employers with more confidence, strange to say — 
but in this particular case, it was absolutely necessary 
that the man should be married. Titolof began can- 
vassing ; that is, he asked one of his lady friends to find 
him a pretty wife, with a good figure, small fortune, 
and, above all, an excellent education, both mental and 


THE FEYEK OF IMPATIENCE. 97 


moral, which is indispensable in the wife of a man in 
public life. 

Titolof was not a bad man, but he was silly, which 
was rather his misfortune than his fault, for he tried, 
assiduously, to correct it ; but in vain. Divine Prov- 
idence had given him, instead of intellect, an unalter- 
able contentment with himself and others. He was an 
optimist — particularly in anything concerning himself, 
and therefore found Antonine perfect. Never having 
before paid his devoirs to any woman worthy of mention 
he scarcely knew how to address a young girl, and 
consequently preferred the society of his future brother- 
in-law, with whom he could jest and jeer as he pleased. 

Such was the husband chosen by the Karzofs for 
their daughter. 

Antonine had thought of begging Titolof to withdraw 
his claim ; but his folly and impertinence were enough 
to convince her of the uselessness of her efforts. What 
remained for her to do, then ? 

This was the question she asked herself every night 
during her moments of solitude. Niania would sit on 
the foot of the bed and weep silently when she saw her 
beloved child suffering from such bitter thoughts. It 
was not necessary for the old woman to ask the reason 
of her sorrow ; she divined, too well, the cause of that 
knitted brow, the feverish wringing of the hands, her 
continued lassitude. The young girl was weary of 
struggling, and would sometimes say to herself, “ there 
is no help for me but death ! ” 

6 


98 


THE FEYER OF IMPATIENCE. 


Death! — at nineteen! The first time this thought 
came to Antonine, she trembled with fear, and dared 
not dwell upon it ; but gradually tins vision of a 
hideous, revolting death disappeared, and she dreamed 
of a poetic death, slowly advancing and demanding 
sympathy, — a death which sets a halo around the brow 
of a young girl, — a sort of invisible pathway between 
earth and heaven, where the heart-strings are so gently 
severed and the sufferings are imperceptible ! 

The season of Lent was extremely cold, this year of 
which we write. Antonine, burning with fever, was in 
the habit of throwing open her windows at night, to 
cool and freshen the heavy atmosphere, always found 
in Russian houses. Niania never failed to close the 
shutters , but while she lingered in the kitchen over a 
late supper, Antonine would throw them open again, 
and stand contemplating the stars, drinking in the cold 
wind which seemed to cool her feverish frame. At the 
least noise she would close the window like a culprit. 
Was she not a culprit? 

In a few days she commenced to cough ; the fever 
increased, so that Madame Karzof made her daughter 
remain in bed. 

Antonine submitted without resistance, for she was 
better in bed than anywhere else, because she was sure 
Titolof would not come to her room to see her. The 
doctor found a slight irritation of the lungs, and pre- 
scribed a potion, which Madame Karzof gave her 
daughter every hour. The next day, Antonine was so 


THE FEVER OF IMPATIENCE. 


99 


much better that she rose and obtained permission 
even to go out, provided she would continue to take 
her powders regularly. 

Titolof was charmed to see his fiancee restored to 
health, and brought her a magnificent bouquet, and 
took a box at the circus, an amusement which was 
allowed in Lent. Until the last few years, the theatres 
were closed during those days of penitence. 


100 


TO THE CIRCUS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

TO THE CIRCUS. 

HEN the day arrived, Antonine was ordered to 



yy have her hair dressed, and the cook told to pre- 
pare dinner for four o’clock. It was scarcely three, 
however, when Madame Karzof came to her daughter’s 


room. 


“ Pink ribbons to-day, Niania,” she said to the faith- 
ful servant. 

Niania grumbled as she went off for the box of 
ribbons, leaving Antonine alone with her mother. 

To Madame Karzof ’s great surprise, Antonine 
jumped up, threw off the wrapper they had put over 
her shoulders, and came towards her mother. 

“ Mother,” said she, “ I implore you not to make me 
wretched. I do not ask you to give me to Dournof, 
but do not marry me to Titolof.” 

Madame Karzof shrugged her shoulders. She had 
heard this supplication with a few variations so often, 
that it had no effect upon her heart. 

“ Mother,” began Antonine with more energy ; “ this 
is the last time I am going to ask you.” 

“I am thankful for that,” replied Madame Karzof; 
“ for you weary me to a degree ! ” 

“ Do not be inflexible, my dear mamma,” said 


TO THE CIRCUS. 


101 


Antonine, making a desperate effort to become coaxing 
and tender. “ I will not marry Titolof, because I hate 
him.” 

“ He is a charming man,” replied the mother ; “ you 
are hard to please.” 

“ He is horribly foppish and silly ! ” 

“ I find him intellectual ; but it is understood now, 
children know more than their parents ! ” said Madame 
Karzof, sharply ; for she did think her future son-in-law 
clever. 

“Well, mamma, I must be wrong; you know I am 
an odd, capricious girl ; but, such as I am, I am your 
daughter ; you love me, and I love you, mamma ; and I 
despise M. Titolof. 

Madame Karzof was always irritated when Antonine 
talked to her in a calm, dignified manner. Now that 
she was excited, the unnatural mother was somewhat 
affected, and made her child sit by her, as she played 
with the long brown braids, and spoke gently to her, 
saying : 

“You know, my darling, you will be very happy; 
you will leave for W ” 

“ Leave ? ” cried Antonine, with fear. She thought 
until that time, Titolof would remain in St. Petersburg. 

“ Well ! where have you been wandering? We have 
been talking of this for the past fortnight ! ” 

Alas ! it was true ; but Antonine never listened, 
when her future husband and her parents were con- 
versing; theii’ words were to her like a monotonous 


102 


TO THE CIRCUS. 


buzzing, which served as an accompaniment *to her 
thoughts. This idea of going away, gave the final 
blow. 

“I do not want to leave you, dear mamma! My 
father is old ; he loves me ; do you wish to grieve liim 
by taking his daughter away from him ? ” 

She did what she had never done before : kissed her 
mother’s hand, and wept, and implored her sympathy 
with bitter tears. 

“ Listen, Nina ! ” said Madame Karzof, somewhat 
moved ; “ if the thing had not gone so far, I might take 
back my promise, but your marriage is announced; 
^ everybody would be surprised ; your trousseau is made, 
the invitations are ready, there is nothing to be done 
but your wedding dress tried on. It is impossible, my 
dear child, think over it yourself I ” 

Antonine quitted her kneeling posture. 

“ You insist? ” said she tremblingly. “ So be it ! but 
you will repent it, bitterly.” 

“ Threats ! ” cried Madame Karzof : “ and I was just 
beginning to regret this marriage. How foolish one is 
to listen to children’s talk! Niania,” she said to the 
nurse, who had just come in ; “ put pink bows on 
Antonine, and make her pretty, at all hazards.” 

Saying this, she walked majestically out of the room ; 
provoked with herself for giving way to her feelings. 

“ Niania,” said Antonine, sadly ; “ make me as hand- 
some as possible, so that every one will have pleasant 
remembrances of me when I am no more.” 


TO THE CIJICUS. 


103 


“ What do you mean, my darling ? ” said the fright- 
ened old woman. “ Don’t speak of death at your age ! 
Could one die at twenty ? Look at my old bones, that 
I can scarcely drag along — God does not yet summon 
them to rest — no, you will not die yet. Die ! we have 
time enough to think of that, thank God.” 

A strange smile passed over Antonine’s face, as she 
sat down before the little table. She examined herself 
in the mirror, as she seldom did ; how much youth, and 
quick, warm blood flowed through those blue veins. 
While she was dressing, Antonine looked at her round 
dimpled arms, her pretty pink shoulders, and thought 
how sad it would be when all this was six feet under 
ground. Tears came to her eyes, but she bravely shook 
them from her long lashes. 

“Weep, my child, that will do you good;” mur- 
mured Mania, as she finished dressing her ; “it will do 
you good, you have been so oppressed, lately ! ” 

“ I have not time ; ” answered Antonine, abruptly. 
“ Give me my gray barege dress.” 

“ Barege ! my dear it will be cold in the circus ! 
It is not close and warm like the theatre ! It is cold 
there, and many draughts ! ” 

“ Do as I tell you,” repeated the young girl, imperi- 
ously ; “ my mother wishes me to look well, and I must 
obey her.” 

Mania went for the dress. She found the waist had 
no lining, and was open across the chest, but Antonine 
put it on with a sort of triumph, thinking she never 


104 


TO THE CIKCUS. 


looked so well. She added a ribbon or two, and then 
glancing in the mirror, made a jesting curtsey before 
her own image. 

“ Those who are about to die, salute you ! ” said she, 
then passed into the salon where Titolof, who had been 
invited to dinner, was patiently awaiting her. 

“ Is it not so. General ? ” asked the young girl, with 
a little mocking smile ; “ one must dress when one goes 
into society.” 

“Will you not be cold in that dress?” asked her 
mother, anxiously. 

“ How can I be cold if I am having a good time ? ” 
replied Antonine. “ I am counting upon amusing my- 
self this evening. Since the first of Lent I have not 
had any fun. It is none too soon to begin ! ” 

She had never talked so much ; Titolof stood aghast, 
looking at her, not daring to utter a word. Antonine 
was certainly changed, she, who never conversed, was 
now gayly chattering. When they went to the table, 
Antonine, who never drank anything but water, asked 
for wine. Madame Karzof was alarmed, and thought 
her daughter devised this crafty scheme to disenchant 
the General, by feigning such defects as might dis- 
please him. When dinner was ended, and they were 
talking of leaving, Antonine slipped into her room, and 
called Mania. 

“ Go,” said she “ to Dournof s house.” 

The old woman gazed at her, attentively, but could 
divine nothing from her expression. 


TO THE CIRCUS. 


105 


“ Go, immediately, and tell him we will see each 
other very soon.” 

“You are losing your mind, my dear,” murmured 
Niania, much disturbed. 

“ I was never more serious, and you know I never 
jest. Tell him that I love him, and we will see each 
other again, soon.” 

“ I will obey, my deary, I will obey,” said Niania, 
sadly. 

Antonine passed her hand caressingly over the bony 
face of the old servant, threw a light shawl over her 
head, and went out ; her mother had already called her 
three times, and the carriage was waiting. 


106 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 


CHAPTER X. 


DETERMINED TO DIE 



'HE box which Titolof had taken was the best in 


JL the circus ; it was in the balcony, near the doors, 
where one had the first view of M. Bonthor’s wonder- 
ful dogs and monkeys. It is true that there was a 
terrible wind every time the house doors were opened, 
but no rose is without its thorns; and another dis- 
advantage was that the horses kicked the sand in one’s 
face. But what does one go to the circus for, except 
to swallow dust? 

In those days, long ago, alas ! they did not have men 
and women who lifted each other with their teeth, or 
tight-rope dancers, or flying trapeze performers, making 
every one shudder as they jumped from ring to ring. 
Circuses in the past had only dogs, horses, and mon- 
keys ; sometimes an elephant would be exhibited, but it 
was not a place that was considered very respectable, 
or even moral, so that girls over ten or twelve years 
were not allowed to go, unless they had special 
performances for children. 

Therefore the entrance of a gay family to a box, 
ordinarily occupied by tradespeople, created quite a 
sensation, and fifty opera-glasses were leveled upon 
Antonine. She blushed at first, as if insulted, but soon 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 107 

regained her self-possession, and submitted with perfect 
indifference to the general admiration. She occupied 
the best seat in the box, that is the one nearest the 
balcony, and as she turned her back to the stables, 
there would be such a draught now and then, on her 
scantily covered shoulders, that she shivered with cold. 

“ You are cold,” said the mother, as she saw the color 
go and come in the young girl’s face. 

“ No, mamma, I feel very well.” 

“Put this over her shoulders, M. Titolof,” said 
Madame Karzof, as she handed him a light mantle; 
“We must not forget she has just been ill.” 

Titolof gracefully arranged the cloak over the young 
girl’s shoulders ; she thanked him, and continued gaz- 
ing around the house. In a few moments the covering 
slipped down on the back of her chair. During the 
entr'acte^ Titolof ordered ices, for it was very warm in 
the crowded, brilliantly-lighted house, in spite of fhe 
occasional wind. Antonine asked the second time 
for an ice so that her mother feared she would seem 
too greedy, and shook her head, but Antonine woidd 
not understand the mute language of those terrible eyes, 
and calmly ate the ice. 

“Is that not' imprudent ? ” Madame Karzof asked. 

“ No, mamma,” said the young girl, who was hurry- 
ing to finish it. 

She handed the empty plate to Titolof, and again 
watched until the circus was over. The crowd passed 
slowly out through the narrow passage, and every time 


108 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 


the door opened the air poured in from the street. The 
gentlemen went to look for the carriages which were 
difficult to find in the crowd of equipages always wait- 
ing at the doors of theatres. 

“ Heaven favors me,” thought Antonine, as she 
dropped the fur-lined cloak she had been almost 
smothered under. 

“ What are you doing ? ” said her mother to her, 
“you are losing your cloak, and will take cold, put it 
on, immediately.” 

“ Yes, mamma,” replied Antonine. A moment after 
the mantle was down again. 

A strong hand suddenly folded it around the young 
girl ; she started, and recognized Dournof, who had not 
lost sight of her for the last hour. 

“ Be silent,” said he, in a low tone, “ thanks for your 
message.” 

“ Go away, go away,” whispered Antonine, while her 
mother stood on tip-toe, scanning each face that passed 
through the door, in search of her husband and son-in- 
law. 

“ No, no, go away,” repeated Antonine, with im- 
patience. “ Not here, not now, go on.” 

He pressed her hand, and was soon lost in the crowd. 
Immediately the cloak fell again from her shoulders. 
She shivered from head to foot, and a strange sharp 
pain in the chest, as she opened her mouth to breathe in 
the cold air, struck her lungs squarely. 

“ That ’s it,” said she with a wonderful joy, as she 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 109 

felt the fever increasing. “ Merciful death is coming 
to relieve me.” 

“ There they are ! ” cried Madame Karzof, as she 
rushed to the door. “ Follow me, Nina ! ” 

It was some time before they were seated in their 
carriage, then they drove off. Antonine retired imme- 
diately into her room upon the pretext of fatigue, and 
found Niania awaiting her. 

“ I saw your friend,” said she ; “ he was very happy, 
and he went afterwards to the circus.” 

“ I know it ; I saw him,” replied Antonine. 

“ How strange your voice is ! ” said Niania, fright- 
ened ; “ how red you are ! Have you taken cold ? ” 

“ What an idea ! — go, bring me some tea.” 

Niania returned with a cup of tea, boiling hot, which 
the young girl swallowed down at once. 

“ You will burn yourself! ” observed the old servant. 

“ Oh,” said Antonine, smiling, “ what a grumbler you 
are ! ‘ You will burn yourself I you will take cold ! ’ Is 
there not any happy medium between heat and cold?” 

Niania looked at her darling with a scrutinising 
glance. 

“ I do not know,” said she, slowly, “ what you are 
contemplating, my child; — but your good angel has 
not been whispering to you of late.” 

Antonine passed her arm around her old nurse’s neck 
and said, 

“ Do you know, Niania, I love only two persons 
in the world — Dournof and you. Remember those 
words.” 


110 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 


“ Ah, my dear ! ” said Niania, looking at her with 
tender reproach ; “ you are adding one sin to another ! 
Has not the good Lord said, ‘Honor thy father and 
mother, that thy days may be long ? 

Antonine smiled ; but this strange expression rested 
only a second upon her face. 

“ Go to supper, nurse,” said she ; “ I can get into bed 
alone, and you can come after supper to arrange my 
room.” 

Niania obeyed. Scarcely was the door closed, when 
Antonine turned the key and ran to the window. The 
hot tea she had taken made the perspiration stand in 
great drops on the girl’s forehead and temples. She 
threw her dress on the bed and remained before the 
open window, with neck and arms bare, until she was 
chilled through and through. A deathly pallor covered 
her face, but she continued to breathe the fatal air with 
the firmness of a martyr. 

Whoever had told the young girl that suicide was a 
crime, would have found a deaf listener at this moment. 
She did not want to live ; although the death she had 
chosen would be slow, yet she would have time to 
repent and ask God to forgive her for her sin. 

A clock struck midnight in the ante-room. Antonine 
closed the window, opened the door, and went quietly 
to bed. In a moment, her mother came in. 

“How cold it is here!” said she, in drawing her 
shawl tightly around her shoulders ; “ you do not have 
it warm enough here, Nina ; your room is a regular ice- 
house I Do you feel weU ? ” 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 


Ill 


“ Very well, mamma, thank you ! ” replied the young 
girl. 

“ You were very pretty, to-night, Nina ; that is the 
way you must dress, and not like a nun. Monsieur 
Titolof was delighted with your beauty and amiability. 
You are a good child, in spite of your caprices. Good 
night.” 

She leaned over her daughter to embrace her. Sud- 
denly Antonine clasped her two arms around Madame 
Karzof’s neck, and asked in a quivering voice : 

“ You love me, mamma ? ” 

“ Certainly, I love you. Do you doubt it ? ” 

Antonine did not reply, but tightened her embrace 
and again kissed her mother’s cheeks. 

“ Give me your blessing, mamma,” she said, in a low 
voice. 

Her mother blessed her, kissed her once more, and 
left her. Niania came in, softly. 

“Well, my dove ! you have made peace with your 
mother ? ” 

“ Yes, — eternal peace,” replied Antonine. 

“ What strange words you speak ! God alone can 
understand you.” 

“ God alone,” repeated Antonine, thoughtfully. 

Her cheeks flushed from time to time, and she would 
unconsciously start. Niania watched her persistently. 

“ Are you sleepy, Niania ? ” she asked, hoping to 
distract her attention. 

“ No,” replied the old woman. 


112 


DETERMINED TO DIE. 


“Nor 1. Sit down there” — and she pointed to the 
foot of the bed — “ tell me something.” 

“ What shall I tell you ? ” said Niania, sitting down 
on the edge of the low, narrow couch ; “ an old servant 
like me has nothing to tell.” 

“ What — nothing ? Have you never had anytliing 
happen to you ? ” 

“ Nothing worth relating.” 

“ That is not possible,” replied Antonine. I don’t 
know whether you are spinster, wife, or widow. You 
must have had some experiences, even if it were only to 
get married.” 

Niania shook her head, looking very melancholy. 

“ I was married ; but it is not very interesting.” 

“ Tell me about it, all the same, I beg of you.” 

With some hesitation, Niania began twisting the 
corner of her apron, as country girls do, when they 
talk, and commenced her history in a low tone : 


Tfl£ NUltSE’s STOKY. 


113 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE nurse’s story. 

IIT Y FATHER — God have mercy on his soul ! — 
i.TJL was an active, lively man ; he loved to work as 
he loved to laugh and eat. I remember him coming 
from the Sunday nights, singing and shouting; 

but he was more intoxicated by songs and gayety than 
wine — for he did not love brandy, he said it made him 
sad. When he drank anything, it was generally honey 
and water or sweet cider, but it was very seldom. 

“We were a house full of children, and I was the 
eldest. From my earliest recollection, I don’t remember 
being without a baby in my arms ; as soon as she learned 
to walk, there would be another to take its place. I 
had reached the age now when little girls begin to be 
serious and wonder if their hair is well braided. I was 
the daughter of a farmer, and not a servant. I had 
never been out to service ; and yet you see, my darling, 
that I came to you. When my poor mother died, I 
was already quite tall. She was a very stern woman 
— as serious as my father was gay — still I did not love 
her as much as my father ; but when I laid her in the 
tomb, I felt my bright days were over. I had not 
time to carry the children about any longer — even the 
T 


114 


THE NTJESe’s stoke. 


youngest — then only twelve clays old, although I loved 
him the best of all. 

“My father was sad for a few days; but he was 
naturally so light-hearted that he did not long mourn, 
but sought relief among his comrades, while I was left 
at home with the little ones.” 

“And you so young ! ” exclaimed Antonine. 

“What could I do? We cannot resist the will of 
God ! It was He who took our mother from us, and 
His will that I should rear the others. 

“ Several years passed like this ; the little children 
had grown large, even the last one could run around 
now, which gave me more time to myself. I took 
advantage of the fine weather to gather mushrooms 
and wild fruit, to dry for winter, for these were the 
only delicacies we had. 

“ One day, I went in the woods with my basket to 
gather strawberries ; it was warm, and when my basket 
was full I sat down on the grass. Your mother’s 
mother — your deceased grandmother — came that day 
with some friends to take tea in the forest. 

“ There were about a dozen, who came in a coach 
and four. Your grandmother, who was very good, 
spoke to me as she passed, but I was too shy to meet 
her, so ran away and hid. Now and then, I would 
hear the horses’ feet clatter, and the bells jingle; it 
amused me for I never had any pleasure myself, and 
did not know how the grandees enjoyed themselves. 

“ While I was there, I heard a footstep near me ; I 


THE nurse’s story. 


115 


turned round ready to run, but was curious to see wbat 
creature was coming. I recognised a man whom I had 
seen but twice ; it was Afanasi, your grandmother’s 
coachman. He was only eighteen, but he knew how to 
drive a four-in-hand better than any one in the neigh- 
borhood. If you could have seen him drive your 
grandmother’s coach to church, Sundays ! ” 

Niania stopped a moment, sighed, and made the sign 
of the cross. 

“Afanasi,” she continued, “appeared to me hand- 
somer than the sun. He had a blonde beard, and when 
he smiled I thought the Heavens opened and I saw the 
Father with his angels. Afanasi asked me my name, 
and told me I was pretty ” 

Niania stopped again. 

“ I recall my old sin,” said she ; “ it is the evil spirit 
that inspires me, of yore.” 

“ No, no ; ” said Antonine, who was leaning on one 
elbow, with eyes sparkling ; “ teU me all. You loved 
him? ” 

“ I loved him more than my life ! ” said the old 
woman. “ No one, except my father and the children, 
had ever said a kind word to me. The neighbors said I 
was proud and would not speak to the villagers ; but I 
was not proud, I was timid. 

“ With Afanasi, I was also timid ; but he knew how 
to reassure me. At first, I would look at him under 
my elbow, which I put before my face like our young 
girls when they are ashamed, but I ended by looking 


116 


THE nurse’s story. 


him straight in the eyes. I loved him so much that 
when I failed to see him, if only at a distance as he 
was washing his master’s carriages, I was sad all day, 
and at night cried so that I could not sleep. 

“It was six weeks since I first met Afanasi in the 
woods ; I had seen him in the barn and different places, 
but I was so shy, I dared not trust myself with him for 
a minute. It was very funny ! Before seeing him I 
was so uneasy I could scarcely stand still ; hours seemed 
years to me, and when I went to meet him I went 
slowly, and then if he attempted to put his arm around 
me, or kiss me, I would run away across the field and 
hide behind a tree or hay-stack, there to watch for him, 
and if I saw him I was happy until the next day. 

“ One evening, I was standing at the corner of the 
avenue which led to the gentleman’s house, and I saw 
Afanasi going towards the stables, I thought him so 
handsome my heart went out to him, then I knew when 
he disappeared behind that wall I would be sad again. 
As I stood there, my father was coming home from 
work earlier than usual, he crept up behind and tapped 
me on the shoulder, which made me jump with fright ! ” 
“What are you looking at?” said he, jestingly, 
“ handsome Afanasi’ s long legs ? ” 

I had never told a lie, so I was all in a flurry. My 
father continued : 

“ They say he is courting you ! Trust him not, my 
child, he is a deceiver, don’t believe one word he says.” 
“But, father,” I answered, for I was offended at the 


THE nurse’s story. 117 

manner in which he spoke of my great friend, “ he has 
never said anything bad to me.” 

“ I should hope not, the scamp ! He makes love to the 
miller’s daughter and Madame’s maid at the same time ; 
if he cannot have one for a wife, he will take the other. 
He is deep ! and will never marry a poor girl ! he does 
not like wooden shoes, he prefers a woman who wears 
kid boots ! ” 

“ I looked down at my bare feet, my father shrugged 
his shoulders, and went off. Must I believe my father, 
and suppose Afanasi was deceiving me ? It was true 
he had never spoken of marriage, and I dared not 
broach the subject, but believed he loved me enough 
to be willing to spend his life with me. I went home, 
gave my little flock their supper, and put them to 
bed, then curled myself on the floor as usual for the 
night, and began to reflect. No, I could not admit that 
my father was joking me, although he was fond of jest>* 
ing, yet this was a serious matter, and he would not 
knowingly grieve one of his children, for he loved them 
all. I determined to ask Afanasi if he were courting 
the miller’s daughter and Madame’s maid, but was 
afraid if I asked him that question, he would get angry, 
and would cease to love me. 

“ The maid was a girl who had been brought up in 
the great house, and thought herself much better than 
we country girls ; she scarcely spoke to us on fSte days. 
I determined to go and see the miller’s daughter, she 
lived only a short distance from us on the river, and we 


118 


THE nurse’s story. 


were nearly the same age, but she had nothing to do, 
and I was busy all the time. 

“ The next day, after putting the house in order, I 
told my father I was going to find some crawfish in a 
hole that I knew just beyond the mill, and started off 
with my basket. As I passed behind the commons of 
the manor, I heard Afanasi laughing and joking in a 
loud tone. I recognized his voice for it always went to 
my heart, and I heard a woman’s voice also, but could 
not tell if it were the maid or some one else, for I ran 
by so fast. From that time I was very sad ; I felt my 
trip was useless, I had seen enough to open my eyes ; 
but you know my child when we are sorrowful we don’t 
want to believe anything that grieves us more ; we 
want to stop up eyes and ears, and wait until Evil 
knocks them on the head, and cries out, ‘ Look me in 
the face,’ and when we turn, we see that the picture is 
not new to us, but has been familiar for a long time. 

“I went to the mill all the same; Paracha, the 
miller’s daughter, was sitting in the door feeding the 
young chickens with the grain that had dropped when 
the men unloaded the wagons. 

“ ‘ Good morning,’ said she to me, ‘ we don’t see you 
often now ! ’ 

“ ‘ I do not have the time,’ said I, ‘ there are too many 
children at home.’ 

“She made me come in, offered me kvass, butter- 
milk, macaroons, and other good things, and placed on 
the table a loaf of spiced bread, with her name on the 
top in red sugar letters. 


THE nurse’s story. 119 

“‘Who gave you this?’ I asked with beating heart, 
for I almost knew what her answer would be. 

“ ‘ It was my jianc^^ the coachman Afanasi,’ replied 
she, blushing with joy and pride. ‘ My parents allow 
him to come to the house now, and make me presents ; 
we are engaged, and if the folks do not go to town for 
the winter we will be married at Epiphany ; if they go, 
we will wait until after Easter.” 

“ ‘ Indeed ! ’ I said to myself, ‘ we learn our 
troubles ! ’ 

“‘Well! are you not going to congratulate me?’ 
asked Paracha, looking at me with astonishment. 

“ I don’t know how I managed to get up, kiss her 
three times, and make a low curtsey. I complimented 
her, then she took me up stairs to see her trousseau. It 
was magnificent, for her mother had been working on 
it since she was twelve years of age. There w^as every- 
thing ; embroidered towels, which she intended giving 
to the groomsmen, to the priest, the deacon, the church, 
in fact, everybody. There were at least forty. She 
had Cretonne laces in red and blue, jackets trimmed 
with gold buttons ; silk handkerchiefs, and dresses like 
those of Madame’s maid. 

“ ‘ My parents will not allow me to wear them until 
I am married, because I am only a country girl, but 
when I am the wife of Afanasi I will put on fashionable 
dresses like a lady.’ 

“ While she showed me all these things I thought, 
what a rich bride she would be ; she was as pretty as I, 


120 


THE nurse’s story. 


and wore one long braid, which hnng down as long as 
yours, my dear. You know our girls plait all their 
hair in one braid. I concluded I was very foolish to 
think of Afanasi’s love when such a beautiful, rich girl, 
did not think herself too good for him. 

“ ‘ Has he been courting you long ? ’ asked I, hoping 
she would say ‘ no.’ 

“ ‘ It will be a year at thefSte of the Virgin,’ said she, 
triumphantly. 

“ All the winter and the spring ! he had trifled with 
me then, as one picks a flower on the roadside only to 
throw it away when something more attractive is found ; 
he thought me pretty enough to tell me so, and had I 
been less wise, he would have taken advantage of my 
folly and blindness! Fortunately, God and my guar- 
dian angel protected me ! and then one is more careful 
when she has the care of eight cliildren I 

“ ‘ Well ! I am going,’ said I to Paracha, getting up. 

“‘Already? where are you going?’ 

“ ‘ To look for crawfish in the river.’ 

“ ‘ And you ? ’ said she suddenly ; ‘ are you going to 
get married soon?’ 

“ I don’t know what demon prompted me to throw 
my head back, proudly, and say : 

“ ‘ I hope so, indeed I I will invite you to my wed- ■ 
ding.’ 

“ ‘ And you will come to mine,’ said Paracha, as she 
accompanied me to the door. 

“ I started off bravely, under the midday sun, and 


THE nurse’s story. 


121 


pretended to be very gay; but when I reached the hole 
for crawfish, I had not the courage to look for any, but 
sat down on the thick, green grass in this retired spot 
and cried until I had no more tears to shed. 

“ When I was tired of crying, I bathed my swollen 
face in the river — the water was always cold in this 
shady spot — I took my empty basket and went on. 

“ I had to pass by the mill ; I walked fast, so that 
Paracha would not stop and ask if I had good luck. She 
did not see me ; but I had not gone many steps before 
I saw Afanasi striding towards the mill, with his usual 
contented air. When he saw me, he appeared a little 
astonished, but smiled, as he said : 

“ ‘ Where are you coming from, my pretty maid ? ’ 

“‘From the mill,’ I replied. ‘Let me congratulate 
you, Afanasi, that you are going to marry such a 
beauty, and she will be rich enough to strut up and 
down the town ! You are right, since she loves you I ’ 

“ I started to go, but he held my hand. 

“ ‘ The wedding is not yet,’ said he, cunningly, and 
tried to make me believe it was some time off. 

“ I felt the blood boil in my veins. ‘ For shame ! ’ I 
cried,— ‘ shame on you ! You trifle with young girls — 
you are a deceiver, a vile hypocrite — and I have but one 
regret, and that is, that I ever looked upon your coward’s 
face or listened to your treacherous words. Leave 
me ! ’ 

“ I tore my hand from his with such indignation, that 
he drew back a little. 


122 


THE nurse’s story. 


“ ‘ My dear ! ’ he stammered; ‘ don’t be angry. I was 
only jesting ; excuse me. Did you tell Paracha ? ’ 

“ ‘ What did I have to tell her ? ’ I replied, folding 
my arms and looking him full in the face. 

“‘You did not tell her that — that I flirted with 
you?’ 

“ He looked so cowardly, so cringing, that I forgot my 
anger. 

“ ‘No,’ I replied, picking up my basket, which I had 
let fall in my temper ; ‘ no ; I told her nothing. I was 
wrong, perhaps, because she believes she is marrying 
an honest man, and she will marry a wretch.’ But I 
was ashamed to admit my folly. ‘ Go . and claim your 
rich bride ! ’ 

“And I laughed in liis face, and ran away at full 
speed. When I came home, my father asked why my 
basket was empty. As he seldom scolded me particu- 
larly for trifles, I told him I stopped at the miller’s. 

“ ‘ That is right,’ said he, ‘ you should amuse your- 
self, your life is not very gay, for you have all the cares 
of a married woman without having a husband.’ 

“ He said no more about it. It was a long time, my 
dear, before I could think Afanasi was a miserable 
scamp, without any heart ; when I thought of him, it 
hurt me as much as if one had run a knife through my 
heart. I tried my best to forget it, but when one has 
drunk of the poison of love, it takes a long time to get 
over it.” 

Niania, who had been talking with her eyes cast 


THE nurse’s story. 123 

down, looked up piteously to Antonine, who said to 
her; 

“ There are some, Mania, who never recover.” 

“ So they say,” replied the old nurse ; “ as for me, I 
was too busy, I had not time to think of the wretch, 
and at night, was so tired I sometimes forgot my 
prayers; but nobody knows what tales Afanasi told 
of me, for Paracha never looked at me afterwards, 
pretended she did not see me, as if I had done 
her some harm. This grieved me, and I married a 
farmer in a short time, without thinking about it. I 
wanted to be married before Paracha, because young 
girls have to wait for married women to recognize 
them first.” 

“ Well, were you happy with your husband ? ” asked 
Antonine. 

Niania was silent a moment. “ He was a wicked man,” 
said she, finally ; “ but he is dead, God have mercy on 
his soul ! ” 

“ How was he wicked ? ” inquired the young girl. 

“ He beat me, and as I was not accustomed to such 
treatment, it was hard to bear — but a married woman 
must submit.” 

“He is dead?” 

“ He died a few years after our marriage, leaving me 
with two children. I grieved for him, because a wife 
should always mourn her husband, but his death was 
a relief to me rather than a sorrow.” 

“And your children ? ” 


124 THE nurse’s story. 

“ That was my greatest trial. I lost them, one after 
the other, with a fever which was prevailing through 
the country. It was then that I realised that no grief 
was like the sorrow of burying one’s children.” 

Antonine turned her head away, and her face was in 
the shadow. 

“Yes,” continued Niania, dreamily, for she seemed 
to be following the same train of thoughts ; “ the 
children that you have brought into the world, nur- 
tured and reared, are dearer to you than any thing else. 
After my husband was taken, my children were left 
me ; when they were gone, there was nothing. I could 
not eat — your deceased grandmother took pity on me 
and took me to wait on her. God have mercy on her ! 
I can well say, she saved my life, for my dead children 
were dragging me down to the grave ! ” 

Antonine put her white feverish hand on the cool 
wrinkled palm of the old servant. 

“Yes, I know you love me,” said the humble woman; 
“ and the reason I love you and your father is, because 
you remind me of my children. Heavens ! how long 
ago that seems ! ” 

Niania wiped her eyes with her apron, and arose. 

“Your mamma would scold if she knew we were 
talking. so late, instead of sleeping. But my darling, I 
must pour out your cough-mixture for you.” 

“ Put it on the table ; I will take it in a moment,” 
said Antonine. 

Niania obeyed; arranged the little room, so that all 


THE nuese’s story. 125 

was delicately fresh, lighted the taper, blessed the 
young girl, and went out. When left alone, Antonine 
got up, opened the window and threw the potion in the 
street ; she intended to stand in the night air, but her 
courage failed her. 

“ Enough ! enough ! ” she murmured ; “ my strength 
is fast ebbing away ! ” 

She went back to bed, but her sleep was feverish and 
disturbed by horrible dreams. Niania’s story and 
Dournof ’s face distracted her weary brain. 


126 


THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 

T don’t know what is the matter with Antonine,” 

X said Madame Karzof to her meek husband, as they 
sat alone in the dining-room. She seems so weary, and 
coughs a little — lam afraid she is going to be ill ! ” 

“ You must send for the doctor,” said the good man, 
sententiously. “One should never neglect the first 
symptoms of a malady. Sometimes a slight indisposi- 
tion becomes dangerous, merely from ” 

“ Heavens ! How seriously you talk ! ” cried Mad- 
ame Karzof, impatiently. “ The doctor came yesterday.” 

“ Ah ! Well, what did he say ? ” 

“ He said, to continue the potion, and he gave her a 
powder, too.” 

“ Antonine will be better in a few days,” added M. 
Karzof, who professed great veneration for the words of 
the Faculty. His wife had not as much faith in the 
efficacy of their remedies. She was silent a moment. 

“Do you know, Karzof,” she said at last, “I have 
an idea that Antonine loves Dournof more than we 
think! ” 

“Why should she love him? Have you spoken to 
her lately about him ? ” 

“No! Since we went to the circus, she has never 
opened her mouth on the subject ! ” 


THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 


127 


“ That proves she has not thought of him ! ” 

Matdame Karzof shook her head. 

“Antonine is not the girl to forget the man she has 
been begging me so long to permit her to marry ! ” 

“Well, what then?” said Karzof — intelligence was 
not one of his virtues. 

His wife looked at him, as much as to say; “You are 
not one of Nature’s gifted sons ! ” 

She leaned towards him, and spoke more confiden- 
tially. 

“We have, perhaps, been wrong in wishing Antonine 
to marry one man, when she loved another. I thought 
she would have forgotten him, but she has not ! She 
may in time — not now. If the thing had not gone so 
far, I would rather break my word with Titolof.” 

“ Break your word with the General ! ” cried Karzof, 
as much horrified as if a house had fallen on him. 

“Don’t talk so loud! she will hear you. Yes, I 
would break my promise to the General. After all, I 
don’t care for him ! Antonine is our child, and I want 
her to live ! ” 

Madame Karzof burst into tears. Her husband, more 
stupefied than ever, stood looking at her, until finally, 
gathering up two or three ideas, stammered out : 

“ Is she so ill ? ” 

“ I don’t know that she is so ill, but the expression of 
her eyes pains and alarms me. She has the air of 
forgiving me, and I have tried to be angry, but could 
never find words to express my feelings.” 


128 


THE TEUTH IS TOLD. 


“ Why don’t you question her ? ” said Karzof, com- 
pletely upset. 

“I know perfectly what she will reply. It is not 
worth while to talk to her until I have broached the 
subject to Titolof. You are a man, Karzof, you should 
take this upon yourself. See if he would release us from 
our promise.” 

uj — I try,” declared the good man, bravely — 
somewhat moved by his wife’s tears, but terrified to 
think of talking to Titolof about anything except the 
ordinary affairs of life. He felt that he was created 
neither an orator nor a diplomatist. 

Antonine came into the dining-room, making excuses 
for rising so late. For some time she had not risen 
early, as she often could not sleep until morning. 

“ It makes no difference, Nina,” said Madame Karzof ; 
“ kiss us, my child — we are not compelled to rise at a 
certain hour, fortunately.” 

Surprised at such unusual indulgence the young girl 
looked at her mother, and saw she had been crying. 
Remorse seized her, and not for the first time; she 
thought, with a contrite heart, of the sorrow she should 
soon cause her parents. 

The old people looked at Antonine. How changed 
were those beautiful eyes I Her colorless skin indicated 
an impoverishment of her blood ; her hair seemed thin- 
ner and lighter on the temples, where a network of 
veins was perceptible. They exchanged a look, and 
Madame Karzof began talking in a playful, familiar 
manner with her daughter. 


THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 


129 


“Would you like to go to the concert this evening?” 

“ Yes,” replied Antonine, carelessly. 

“ There is to be a charming concert at the Assembly 
Hall, and if you wish, your father will take two tickets 
for us.” 

Antonine looked at her mother, scarcely believing 
her ears. 

“ For you and me, mamma?” she asked. 

“ Yes, for us ; we will take a carriage, and go alone 
in fine style.” 

Without Titolof! This was an unexpected joy for 
Antonine, who consented with more vivacity than she 
had shown for some time. As her father went to his 
business he promised to stop and buy the tickets. In 
the afternoon the General arrived with his usual grace 
of manner, and met several persons in the salon. 
Karzof, being detained by going for the tickets, found 
his future son-in-law just taking leave of the ladies, so 
he had not time to say a word to him. 

Antonine was very much overcome as she entered the 
concert hall ; the heat, perfumes, lights of a crowded 
room, made her feel quite faint, but she summoned up 
strength enough to walk across the hall, and sit down 
by her mother. During the past fifteen days her 
disease had made rapid progress. Her medicines she 
had thrown out of the window, the powders which still 
remained in her drawer, were indeed wasted ; prescrip- 
tions from the family physician, who was skillful enough, 
but never dreamed that his patient was neglocting his 
8 


130 


THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 


orders. He thought Antonine’s malady was only a slight 
cough, augmented by the unusual severity of the season. 
Under the excitement of dressing and coming out, she 
looked far better than usual. She glanced around the 
upper galleries where those persons who were unwilling 
to take the trouble of making a toilette, could enjoy the 
music just as well for a moderate price — thinking she 
would see Dournof there, as she had sent word to him 
by Niania that he must certainly come. 

Sure enough he was there, just above the orchestra, 
immediately in front of her. He sent her a qiiiet kiss, 
by touching, his fingers to his lips, which sign she 
returned by bowing her head ; after this they never lost 
sight of each Other. Their spirits floated together 
upon that music into space where all was light and gay, 
where even suffering becomes etherealized. 

Antonine’s nerves, which had been so long on a 
stretch, vibrated like the strings of the violoncello ; she 
was so happy to feel that she was breathing with him 
that impassioned atmosphere, laden with Sweet har- 
monies from the orchestra, that she entirely forgot the 
horrors that awaited her. 

The symphony finished after the first entr'acte^ when 
a favorite tenor came on the stage. After the orchestra 
played the introduction, Edgar commenced in Italian 
the air in Lucia : 

“ Bientot, 1’ herbe des champs croitra 
Sur ma tombe isolee I ” 

Aptonine, brought back to the realities of life, uttered 


THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 


131 


a little scream, threw back her head, and fainted away. 
There was soon a crowd gathered around her, but the 
trombones drowned the sound of the noise made in 
taking her out, and the tenor sang his aria with the 
greatest well-merited success. 

When Antonine recovered consciousness, in the little 
reception-room where they had carried her, she heard 
the enthusiastic applause which announced the end of 
the piece. 

“ Excuse me,” said she, as soon as she could speak, 
“ I am very sorry, mamma ; take me home I ” 

Some one offered to find their carriage. Antonine’s 
extreme beauty, and the almost superhuman expression 
of suffering in her eyes, had attracted around her 
several men of the best society, and two old noblemen, 
well known in St. Petersburg, would not yield their 
place to any one, in putting the young girl in her car- 
riage. On the steps, near the door, stood Dournof, 
pale and agitated. Antonine looked up at him with 
such a sad, sweet smile, that the young man was moved 
to the very depths of his soul. 

“ She will die,” he said to himself, bitterly. “ How 
is it that no one sees the truth ? ” 

He followed the little procession, and stood near the 
carriage-door ; as Antonine put her foot on the step, it 
was Dournof’s hand that assisted her. Madame Kar- 
zof, however, was so disturbed, that she did not even 
see him. After the conversation with her husband 
in the morning, this fainting alarmed her very much; 


132 


THE TKUTH IS TOLD. 


she overwhelmed Antonine with such tenderness that 
the girl was conscience-stricken that she had doubted that 
mother’s love. Monsieur Karzof was much distressed 
when he heard of his daughter’s illness, and assisted by 
his son Jean, they carried her to her room, in spite of 
Antonine’s entreaties and assurances that it was simply 
giddiness, caused by the heat. Madame Karzof in- 
sisted upon undressing and putting her daughter to bed, 
unassisted, and Antonine had to submit to her mother’s 
tearful cares. At last she persuaded her she was sleepy 
and wanted to be left alone. Madame went out of her 
daughter’s room, wrote a note to the doctor, asking him 
to call the first thing in the morning. 

“Niania,” said Antonine, sweetly; the nurse, think- 
ing she was asleep, was moving around the room, on 
tiptoe ; “ Niania, go down, quickly, to the street, 
Dournof must be there, and tell him there is nothing 
serious the matter ; we will see each other before long. 
Go quickly ! ” 

Niania lingered to ask a question, but Antonine 
repeated, “ Quickly,” so the poor old woman hastened 
to obey. 

She returned in a few minutes, and said : 

‘‘ You were right, my angel, he was there ; he told 
me to tell you to be careful, that you frightened him 
very much, and he loved you madly. Ah, my children ! 
what game are you playing ? It is enough to kill you, 
my sweet one ! ” 

A sad smile brightened Antonine’s face as she mur- 
mured, “ Good-night,” and turned away from the light. 


THE TKUTH IS TOLD. 


133 


All the household were asleep a few hours later, 
when Niania awoke with a start, thinking something 
had happened. In her bare feet, she ran to Antonine’s 
room, opening the door cautiously. She found the 
young girl kneeling in her white night dress before the 
Holy Images, praying and weeping with clasped hands. 
Incoherent words fell from her lips ; she had wept so 
much that she had not the strength to rise. 

“Forgive me. Father,” she murmured, “and receive 
me into Paradise. I suffer, 1 suffer too much ! What 
sorrow for him, and for them ! Sinner that I am, if God * 
rejects me, what will become of me ? I am so young ! 
Oh, my God, I, — I cannot ” — 

She would have fallen on the floor if Niania, who 
had been listening in breathless horror, had not caught 
her, and with unnatural strength given her for the 
moment, laid Antonine again on her bed. The young 
girl recognized her faithful nurse, smiled, then closed 
her eyes and relapsed into unconsciousness. 

“ Help ! help ! ” cried Niania, “ The young lady is 
dying ! ” 

Every one was soon aroused, and the usual remedies 
applied, but Madame Karzof determined to send 
immediately for the physician. 

In an hour’s time he arrived; he loved Antonine 
devotedly, but his skill was not equal to his affection. 
He pronounced her case nervous prostration, and 
ordered perfect quiet. The next day, or rather the 
same day, when Titolof came, Monsieur Karzof was 
embarrassed when he met him. 


134 


THE TKUTH IS TOLD. 


“Is Mademoiselle well?’’ asked the gallant Jiane/, 
after the first greeting. 

“Not precisely,” replied the good man, “we wiU 
have to tell yon ” 

“ How? is she sick?” asked the suitor, assuming the 
sad expression which he thought necessary in such a 
case. 

“Yes, that is — she fainted twice last night.” 

The General lifted his eyebrows, which play of fea- 
ture meant “what a misfortune! how you astonish 
me!” 

“ And the doctor, what does he say ? I suppose you 
have called in medical aid ? ” 

“ Certainly ! The doctor said she must avoid all 
excitement ; he orders absolute quiet,” replied Karzof, 
who had learned the phrase bj^ heart. 

Titolof again raised his eyebrows. 

“ It is unfortunate ! very unfortunate ! ” said he, “ a 
young person who seemed to enjoy such excellent 
health!” 

“ She has always been well — it is only since she has 
been engaged, that she ” 

Titolof looked so serious that Karzof dared not finish 
the sentence ; he commenced another, thinking it might 
be easier. 

“When do you leave St Petersburg, General?” he 
asked, fawningly. 

“ The second week after Easter, at all risks,” replied 
the officer with a melancholy air. 


THE TRUTH IS TOLD. 


135 


“ Indeed ! That is bad ! You see, General, I am 
afraid my daughter will not be well enough by that 
time.” 

Titolof jumped up as if some one had run a needle 
into him, 

“ But then ? ” he asked with numerous interrogation 
points in his voice and gesture. 

“Well yes. General !” replied Karzof, bowing his 
head as if he had received a reprimand. 

“How yes? I dare not understand you. Sir; if I 
hear rightly you intend going back on your word.” 

“I am not going back on my word,” said Karzof, 
looking up, but my daughter is ill, and the physician 
says she should have no excitement ; marriage is exci- 
ting, and under present circumstances — even if she 
should recover, as soon as we sincerely hope, she could 
not be married before four or five months, yes, four or 
five months,” repeated Karzof, with complacency, think- 
ing what a trick he was playing on the General. 

“ Four or five months ! And I ought to be married 
before my departure, and I must go a fortnight from 
Easter. You ought to have told me that before,” he 
said, turning furiously towards Kerzof, who wa^s very 
much disconcerted. Fortunately Madame Karzof came 
in the salon at that moment. Without even bowing to 
her ex-future son-in-law she said sharply : 

“You might have known you did not please my 
daughter ! ” 

“She. never said anything disagreeable to me,” said 
Titolof, somewhat confused by this unexpected attack. 


136 


THE TKUTH IS TOLD. 


“As if that were necessary ! ” Do you think we are 
so badly brought up in our family as to say disagreeable 
tilings to persons whom we receive ? ” 

A general melSe followed, and Titolof retired, repeat- 
ing in an irritated tone : 

“We must tell everybody! Where can I find a 
woman who will become my wife fifteen days after 
Easter? I must be at my post in five weeks, and 
married ! Nobody makes visits in Holy week I Good 
heavens! Everybody must be informed — where to 
turn I can’t tell ! ” 

Jean Karzof, hearing this chapter of lamentations* 
put his head out of his door which opened in the hall, 
and quietly contemplated the discomfiture of the 
abhorred Titolof. When the door was shut on the 
conquered General, he took his hat and coat and started 
out, but changed his mind, for he stopped in his sister’s 
room. 

Antonine, who was no longer able to stand, lay on a 
couch ; her dressing-gown concealed how thin she had 
grown. When she saw her brother, she smiled and 
offered him her hand. 

“ They have sent off your General,” said Jean. He 
stopped. His sister sprung up, clung to the back of the 
chair and looked wildly at him. 

“ What do you say ? ” she asked, all out of breath. 

“ Zounds ! ” thought J ean. They said she could bear 
no excitement. But this can do her no harm of course ! ” 

He resumed cautiously : 

“ My father has just told Titolof that you were ill, 


THE TKUTH IS TOLD. 


137 


and as the General is in a greater liurry to find a wife 
than we are to get rid of you, he must look elsewhere. 
Are you satisfied ? ” 

“Ah ! ” cried Antonine, with a despairing cry. “Too 
late ! Too late ! ” 

At this sound, her parents who were in the salon — 
not dreaming of their son’s folly — ran to her in haste. 

“Forgive me, my dear parents,” stammered Anto- 
nine. “ I doubted you and thought you did not love 
me enough ! Forgive me. What have I done ! ” 

She wrung her hands, and looked supplicatingly at 
them, as great tears rolled down to her dressing-gown. 

“ She is delirious ! ” cried the mother. Some soothing- 
powders, quick ! Her powders I ” 

She opened the drawer where these powders had 
been kept. Alas ! they were all there ! 

“ Unhappy girl I what have you done ? ” 

“Forgive me,” said Antonine, sinking back on the 
pillow. 

“What is the matter?” asked Jean in a frightened 
voice. 

“ The powders are all there ; she has not taken one ! 
Wretched child ! do you want to die ? ” 

Antonine, without replying, began coughing terribly, 
and put her handkerchief to her mouth. The handker- 
chief was stained with blood when she removed it. 

“ Ah ! ” said Madame Karzof, clasping her hands ; “ if 
we have been harsh towards you, my child, you have 
punished us severely enough ! ” 

Antonine did not speak. She, too, was punished I 


138 


WE ARE TO BLAME. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


WE ARE TO BLAME. 


T he next day at eleven o’clock, the most celebrated 

specialist of lung diseases, Dr. Z , was at the 

bed-side of the young girl. His confrkre^ whose negli- 
gence had caused such serious results, was near him, 
contrite and full of remorse, while the medical celebrity 
made a thorough examination of Antonine’s lungs. 

When the illustrious practitioner had finished, he put 
the poor child gently down on her pillow. 

“It will be nothing,” he said, smiling; “a little 
patience, and we will cure you I It is only an affair of 
six weeks.” 

He smiled again, pressed her hand, asked for paper 
to write a prescription, and passed into the sitting-room 
where the parents and Jean were. Mania and the old 
physician stayed with Antonine, repeating to her those 
consoling words. 

“Then Doctor,” said the father, looking timidly at 
him ; “ you think ” 

Dr. Z , when assured that the door was closed, 

said in a low tone : 

“ It is useless to deceive you ; in six weeks she will 
die.” 

“It is impossible!” cried the mother. “It cannot 
be ! God can not ” 


WE ARE TO BLAME. 


139 


“ Do not make a noise,” interrupted the doctor ; “ it 
is galloping consumption which cannot be stopped ; her 
sufferings we can alleviate, but not cure. Give her 
what she wants; refuse her nothing, even the most 
extravagant demands, for you will never have to exe- 
cute your promises.” 

The two old people wept silently and bitterly. 

“But, Doctor,” said the mother, through her tears, 
“ how did it happen ? ” 

“A neglected cold. You told me she did not take 
her medicines ; they were well prescribed, why did she 
not take them ? ” 

They looked at each other like two culprits, caught 
in the act. 

“She had some secret sorrow,” murmured Madame 
Karzof. 

“ Ah ! heart sorrow ? That happens sometimes ; they 
desire to die, and when death comes, they want to 
retreat — but it is too late now. So she is in love ? ” 

“Yes,” answered the father, solemnly. 

“Well, you know what you are to do,” said the 
doctor. 

He wrote a prescription, finished the consultation, and 
continued : 

“ I may be mistaken, for no one is infallible. Send 
for another physician, he may find her condition less 
serious than I suppose, but I do not think she can live 
more than six weeks.” 

When he left, the parents continued to weep; the 


140 


WE ARE TO BLAME. 


blow had been so sudden, so unexpected, that they 
were completely overcome. 

“ All physicians lie ! ” said Madame Karzof. “ I am 
sure it is not true ; we will have a consultation of 
three, to-morrow% will we not, Karzof?” 

“ Certainly ! ” he murmured ; “ I will see to it at 
once. Ah ! wife, what a misfortune ! Our Antonine, 
who was so beautiful, and so well a month ago, when 
we gave that ball ! ” 

“ Six weeks ago,” said the wife, who was in the habit 
of rectifying her husband’s mistakes. “She was so 
bright the day we went to the circus ! ” 

“ It was that day she took cold ! her cloak would not 
stay on her shoulders, and she was so lightly clothed. 
V/hy did she not take her powders ? ” said the terrified 
father ; “ she would have been cured by this time ! She 
was told often enough, why did she not obey ? ” 

This thought nearly broke his heart. A solemn 
silence pervaded the apartment. Jean suddenly arose, 
and went to the door. 

“ Where are you going ? ” asked the mother me- 
chanically. 

“ I am going for Dournof,” replied the young 
man, in a voice that should have been firm, but his 
strength failed him, and he burst into tears, as he 
closed the door. 

Left alone, the two old people looked at each other 
and said, simultaneously : 

“ We are to blame ! ” 


HIS FOREVER. 


141 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HIS FOREVER. 


EAN found his friend busy at work. It was seldom 



one saw him otherwise than bending over his 


desk. 


Young Karzof’s face was so changed by grief that 
Dournof led him towards the window to question him 
more closely. 

“ What misfortune now ? ” he asked, briefly. 

Jean dropped upon a chair, and made a gesture, 
which meant “ all is lost.” 

“ What ! ” cried Dournof. “ Is she to be married in 
spite of every thing ? ” 

“No,” replied Jean, “worse yet.” 

“ How worse yet ? ” 

Dournof drew back with wild despairing eyes and 
leaned against the wall for support. 

“ She is not dead, speak,” he said in a low concen- 
trated voice. 

“ No,” said Jean, “ thank God ! — but she is dying ! ” 

Dournof passed his hand across his eyes. 

“ I thought so,” he said, “ and she vowed she would 
not live.” 

After he had recovered sufficiently from the shock, 
Dournof listened to all that had transpired at the 


142 


niS FOREVER. 


Karzofs’ : Antonine’s illness — her concealment of it as 
long as possible — the reception Titolof had received 

— the fiat of Dr. Z and finally the tacit permission 

granted by the parents for Dournof to resume his visits. 

“ If happiness can save her, you will do it,” said 
Jean, in finishing his sad story. “ Although the doctor 
has said so, I cannot reconcile myself to the idea that 
she is doomed. She does not look really ill, and 
except excessive weakness, and sometimes a little blood 
on her handkerchief, no one would suppose she was 
seriously affected. Physicians are sometimes mistaken. 
If you would only bring her back to life.” 

“ They would shut the door on me again,” interrupted 
Dournof, bitterly, “ and find another General for Anto- 
nine ! I understand the world my friend ! Your 
parents are neither better, nor worse than the rest of 
mankind. Come, let us be off ! ” 

He threw on his overcoat hurriedly, and the two 
young men walked towards the Karzofs’ house ; as he 
came near the door, he could not control his temper. 

“When I think,” said he, “I went out from here 
scarcely a month ago, leaving Antonine the picture of 
health, and that now it is too late to save her ! She has 
succeeded too well in her work.” 

“You will save her!” said Jean, trying to comfort 
his friend, fully believing moreover, in the efficacy of 
joy ; “ I assure you that the doctor was mistaken, and 
if he be wrong, you will owe your happiness to his 
blunder.” 


HIS FOREVER. 143 

They went out and took their way to Monsieur 
Karzof s office. 

During their absence the old couple had suffered a 
severe trial. After the consultation Antonine was so 
fatigued that she fell asleep, and Niania — full of hope — 
came to them to hear this hope confirmed. When she 
learned that the Doctor’s soothing words were a pious 
fabrication intended merely to deceive Antonine, the 
old woman was completely crushed. 

“What?” said she, “it is not true, and our young 
lady must die ? ” 

Tears were Madame Karzof s only answer. 

The old woman seemed to grow in stature as she said 
reprovingly : 

“It is your fault; you have disobeyed those laws 
of God which leave every heart free to love. You 
have preferred a worldly position to the happiness 
of your child, and God will take her from you as a 
punishment.” 

“Niania,” interrupted M. Karzof, “you are losing 
3^our mind ! How can you speak so to your employers ? ” 

“ It is your punishment,” continued Niania, without 
being disconcerted ; “ your daughter never grieved you, 
never caused you anything but pride and joy, and you 
have afflicted her without cause. The young man was 
poor it is true, but he had merit and loved your 
daughter.” 

“ He loved her for her money,” said the incorrigible 
Madame Karzof. 


144 


HIS FOREVER. 


“ It is not true,” retorted Niania, vehemently, “ it is 
not true, and you know it well. You mortally wounded 
Antonine by that falsehood, it broke her heart, she has 
never been happy since that day.” 

“ But,” said the mother, without seeing that she was 
defending herself against her servant’s accusation, “ she 
should have said so ! It was not necessary to keep 
silent, doubting our love in this way.” 

“ She told you,” replied the old woman, still rigid, 
and almost threatening, “ for weeks past she implored 
you every day not to marry her to that old imbecile 
you had chosen, an empty-headed creature with not a 
grain of sense in his brain, while she loved that boy 
who had more in his little finger than all of us put 
together. She begged you to spare her ; did you listen 
to her prayer ? ” 

“ I did not believe it was serious,” said the mother, 
ashamed of herself. 

“ That is your only excuse I It is nevertheless your 
fault. Why did you not bring up your child yourself? 
and why did you oppose her in everj^thing ? I am but 
, a poor peasant, but I knew she was in earnest when she 
said to me, ‘ It will kill me ! ’ I felt the angel of 
death hovering over her. Yes,” continued Niania, and 
the old couple bowed their heads under the weight of 
her words — “Antonine has committed a great sin in 
voluntarily seeking death ; but you are responsible be- 
fore God for this sin. He gave you this soul to guard, 
and you did not watch over it. We, who loved her so 


niS FOREVER. 


145 


much, must be unhappy too, because you preferred gold 
and titles to the happiness of your child! ” 

All this pierced through the heart of the mother and 
father like so many arrows. Poor creatures ! they had 
sinned from foolishness, ignorance, and lack of caution ; 
but their cross was heavy to bear. 

“ And what will you tell the young man ? ” asked 
Niania. “ The good Lord destined Antonine for him, 
since their love was mutual, and you have put asunder 
what God had joined together.” 

“ If Antonine lives, I swear he shall have her,” sobbed , 
Madame Karzof. 

“ I swear it,” repeated the husband, solemnly. 

At this moment the door-bell rang. 

“ Go, Niania, and if it be strangers, say ‘ we are not 
at home.’ ” 

Niania, suddenly restored to her rdle of servant, 
humbly opened the door. It was Jean and Dournof. 
She asked them to enter the office, and went to tell the 
parents. 

“ Already I ” said Madame Karzof ; she felt a sort of 
terror at the thought of appearing before Dournof. She 
felt that the young man would hold her responsible for 
Antonine’s life. Finally, drying her eyes, and compo- 
sing herself, she went in. 

Dournof arose at her appearance and saluted her 
coldly and respectfully. Madame Karzof intended to 
intimidate him, and make him feel that he had returned 
to the house under peculiar circumstances ; but at the 
9 


146 


HIS FOREVER. 


sight of his well-known face, welcome in her home for 
so many years, she threw herself on his neck, utterly 
overcome, and sobbed out : 

“ Try to save her, and she is yours ! ” 

“I want Antonine, without her dowry,” replied the 
young lawyer. 

“ Yes, certainly, but try to save her, dear Feodor, and 
we will love you as our own son.” 

Dournof kissed Madame Karzof’s hand, and received 
a silent embrace from the father. 

“ Can I see her ? ” he asked immediately. 

“She is not prepared,” replied the mother; “but 
such a joy.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to speak, 
but was silent. 

“ I dare not,” she said, finally, “ I am afraid.” 

“ Niania will tell her,” said Jean, “ she knows her 
better than any of us.” 

Madame Karzof sighed. It was hard for her to hear 
it openly asserted that an old servant knew her child’s 
heart better than she, but it was a humiliation well 
deserved. 

Niania was told to prepare Antonine, who had just 
awakened, and all the family anxiously hovered near 
the door. 

“My birdie, what wiU you have?” asked the good 
old nurse. 

“ Give me something to drink. I feel better after 
my sleep.” 

She looked around with a contented air. 


HIS FOREVER. 147 

“ Is it true, Mania, that Titolof has gone away, and 
they will never speak of him to me again?” 

“Indeed it is true. He is looking elsewhere for a 
wife,” said Mania, gayly, “ he is in a hurry you see ! ” 

Antonine smiled. It was the first step towards hap- 
piness, to be rid of that odious person. 

“We are going to give you anything in the world you 
ask for now, to hasten your recovery. Anything, with- 
out exception ! Now, ask for something.” 

“ Oh ! Mania ! Everything ! That is impossible. 
There are some things they would not give me.” 

“ And what is one of them ? ” 

Antonine blushed. The color lighted up her face 
like a fugitive sunbeam playing upon her emaciated 
cheeks. 

“ They will not let me see Dournof ! ” 

“ Do you think not ? I believe they will. Let me 
try ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” said Antonine, holding her back, timidly. 
“No.” 

“ I am going to see,” persisted the old nurse, as she 
went towards the door. 

She went out, but returned immediately. 

“ He is coming,” she said. 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Antonine, sadly, “ I must be very 
iU!” 

This remark was like a sword-thrust to Madame 
Karzof ; but this mother’s heart, so indifferent before, 
began now to measure her love by her sufferings. 


148 


HIS FOREYEK. 


Dournof could wait no longer; he rushed towards 
Antonine, and threw himself on the floor at her side. 

“ You are mine, forever,” he murmured. 

She took his head between her hands, and looked 
incredulously in his eyes. 

“ You are mine,” he repeated — “ mine forever ! ” 

Antonine leaned her head on the young man’s 
shoulder, closed her eyes, — and they exchanged their 
first kiss. 

Niania shut the door, and left them together, while 
the family wept in the adjoining room. 


THE GRAVE. 


149 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE GRAVE. 

D uring the first days of their rMnion^ the young 
people thought they had defied fate, for in that 
atmosphere of peace and happiness Antonine revived. 
Dournof gave up everything, and passed his entire days 
with Antonine, only going home to sleep. Their 
repasts were the happiest part of the day, for the table 
was laid by the side of Antonine’s couch, which she 
never left, and Niania waited on them, while the family 
dined in the next room. 

To look at the young girl, no one would have sup- 
posed her life was in danger. Her complexion, always 
pale, had become a clear white, a faint fiush on either 
cheek grew brighter only when she had fever; her 
cough was not very painful, but she did not recover her 

strength. Every one thought Dr. Z was mistaken, 

so Madame Karzof called in three other physicians for 
a consultation. 

The result blasted the hopes of the parents, for that 
“ their daughter would not live to see the roses bloom,’’ 
was the sad sentence. 

They, in their despair, insisted that this decision was 
stupidity or deception, for their daughter was better, 
and “ all doctors were fools ! ” This last opinion 
emanated from M. Karzof ’s brain. 


150 


THE GRAVE. 


Antonine’s room had become the family rendezvous ; 
it was there dinner was ordered, and that all discus- 
sions took place. Jean read the papers aloud, and M. 
Karzof there distributed his stock of news and gossip. 
Dournof brought flowers, but flowers without perfume, 
for Antonine could not bear any strong odors. The 
friends of the family, warned of the young girl’s danger, 
came in numbers to see her, each bringing some trifle 
or souvenir^ and could scarcely believe such radiant 
beauty could be doomed. Soon the tables and the 
etageres were laden down with presents. 

The band of young men appeared at the first intelli- 
gence of Antonii\e’s state. Among them, was a medical 
student who had nearly finished his course ; if Dournof 
had any doubts, they vanished when he saw the affec- 
tionate pity exhibited by his friend towards Antonine ; 
how he humored her slightest whims, and watched her 
with such sadness when she was not looking. 

The young girls, her old companions, came in num- 
bers to see her also, and no one knew how much they 
thought of her until she was about to be taken from 
them ; how much good advice she had given them, how 
many sorrows she had alleviated by word and deed ! 
Each one wanted to see her once more, as SP they had 
never seen her before. 

Antonine received all these attentions, these proofs of 
love, as the most natural thing in the world. Her brain, 
a little weary from so long a struggle, and so much 
sorrow, began to grow weaker from the progress of the 


THE GRAVE. 


151 


malady, so that she did not wonder at the number of 
visitors constantly in her room, and only thought how 
pleasant it was to have her friends with her. This 
diversion prevented the great joy she experienced in 
seeing Dournof, having any ill effect upon her. When 
they were left alone after one of those busy days, and 
Niania — always silent and sad — had rolled the table 
near her couch, Antonine stretched out her hand to 
Dournof, who bent over her as she fell back on the 
pillow, and whispered to him : 

“ I am so happy ! ” 

Towards night, her fever came on, when Antonine’s 
eyes sparkled with an unnatural fire, a red light fiamed 
on her transparent cheek — they talked of traveling in a 
foreign country for her health. 

“As soon as the fine weather comes,” she said; “the 
first warm days of May, we will leave for Italy ; we 
will be married then ! ” 

Dournof pressed her hand affectionately, smiling, but 
his heart was full. 

“We will go to Florence ; they say we cannot fancy 
how many flowers grow thereabouts. Then in the 
autumn, we will return here ; mamma will have a bright 
sunny apSirtment for us. My room will be blue, I love 
blue ! Will you not furnish in blue for me, mamma? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Madame Karzof ; “ pale blue.” 

“ Very pale, with white curtains, embroidered. They 
will be expensive, but one only marries a daughter 
once ; papa, is not that so ? ” 


152 


THE GRAVE. 


Karzof murmured something like an assent, and went 
out with his great silk handkerchief to his eyes, his wife 
looking anxiously after him. 

Several days passed thus ; Antonine hoping always 
that the next day she would be able to get up, but she 
was too languid to leave her bed. They would lift her 
to the sofa, but even this effort was more than she could 
bear at times. 

One evening, burning with fever, she sat up some 
time. 

“ I am better, much better, you see, Dournof ! I want 
to go in the salon to surprise mamma and papa, and 
then it is so long since I have had any music. I want 
to play the piano.” 

She got up, took a few steps, then staggered, still 
leaning upon the young man, but as she turned her 
sweet face toward him she grew deadly pale, and clung 
to Ills shoulder. A cruel cough shook that fragile 
frame, and she sank down from exhaustion. He carried 
her back to the sofa, bent over her and watched wist- 
fully every change of countenance, as she threw to the 
floor her handkerchief spotted with blood. 

“ It is too late ! too late ! ” said she, with a heart- 
rending expression. “ Too late, my friend ; we will 
pay dearly for these days of bliss ! ” 

The reflection of this happiness of which Death would 
so soon rob her, was sufficient punishment for Anto- 
nine. This life she was to leave ere long, suddenly 
became so bright that it made her regrets all the more 


THE GEAVE. 


153 


bitter. So much tenderness and devotion in every- 
thing ! All obstacles were removed as by enchantment. 
It was a beautiful dream; paradise seemed to open 
before her — and she must leave all these joys. 

Antonine buried her face in her hands and wept. 
Dournof knelt down by her. 

“ Do not weep,” he said ; “ you break my heart.” 

She looked at him with her beautiful eyes, hollow 
and sunken by physical and mental suffering. 

“ The very time when all is so lovely, and we have 
only to be happy, to see life ebbing away from me — ! 
What bitter mockery ! ” 

Dournof covered the little feverish hands of his 
fiancee with kisses. 

“ Were you not suffering,” said he, in a low tone, “ I 
should not be near you I ” 

“ That is true,” she replied, sorrowfully ; “ I should 
have married Titolof. Ah ! ” cried the poor child ; “ I 
am not wicked! What have I done, to suffer so 
much ! ” 

“ The Lord chastens those whom He loves I ” said 
the solemn voice of Niania, who had come in stealthily. 
“You did wrong, my child, to bring down His hand 
upon you. When you wanted to die, you offended 
your Saviour. Youi* malady is the chastisement He 
sends.” 

“ But she will recover, Niania, she will recover ! ” 
replied Dournof, looking supplicatingly at the old 
woman. 


154 


THE GRAVE. 


“ No,” said Antonine, “ I shall not recover. God is 
not the plaything of our whims. I asked him to send 
me Death as a blessing. He has sent it ! ” 

She buried her head in her hands, and remained 
absorbed in thought. 

“ Let His name be praised ! ” she said. “ I should 
think of nothing now, but obtaining my pardon.” 

When Dournof had gone, and the girl was arranged 
for the night in her little bed, she called Niania, who 
was sleeping near her on the floor, and said to her : 

“ Pray with, and for me, Niania, that God may 
forgive me.” 

“ Poor martyr,” thought the old woman, “ you have 
won Heaven at last.” 

Henceforth, Niania and her pupil talked of Heaven 
every night ; a celestial peace seemed to descend upon 
the girl at that time. The day belonged to Dournof, 
to her family, and friends ; the nights were reserved for 
prayer. 

It was not without cruel regrets, tears and frantic 
despair, that Antonine renounced life ; often she would 
lift up her hands to God, and cry out : 

“ I will not, I cannot die ! ” 

When she thought she was most resigned, the love of 
life returned, even stronger and keener than ever. 
These struggles were very exhausting. 

The doctor, finally, to prolong a life so dear to those 
around her, ordered her to be taken to the country. 
They rented a house at Pargoloro, beautifully situated 


THE GRAVE. 


155 


in the midst of pine trees and larches. If anything 
could strengthen the sinking Antonine, it would be this 
soft, sweet air among the resinous forests. 

In the first days of May, she left, not for Italy, the 
land for which she longed, but for Pargoloro. This 
journey, of about twenty leagues, nearly cost her her 
life. 

Dournof, who helped to support her on pillows, 
thought more than once she would not reach there 
alive ; she did however, and the next day she seemed 
better ; the view of the lake, the hills, the woods which 
surrounded her, the fresh vegetation, all this gave her 
new life, and she began to be hopeful. 

When Antonine was able to look at the landscape, 
she noticed a little hill overlooking the lake, on the 
summit of which was a small chapel built of wood. 

“What is that? ” she asked. 

This unexpected question obtained no answer, for no 
one dared tell her a falsehood. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, looking at the faces around her, “ I 
understand ; it is the Cemetery. I want to be buried 
there, near the lake,” added she, pointing to the extreme 
end ; “ I desme the last rays of the setting sun to rest on 
my tomb.” 

She lived one month longer, notwithstanding the 
predictions of science ; kept up probably by the great 
love of him she was so soon to leave, helpless as a child, 
friendless as an orphan ; — then suddenly her strength 
gave way. 


156 


THE GKAYE. 


“ Listen,” she said one evening to Dournof “ I shall 
die to-morrow, I am sure. Remember, you will live for 
your country, and your fellow creatures. You will 
become rich, and celebrated ; think of me then, for I 
have renounced everything to obtain this end. You 
will marry ” 

Dournof made a gesture of impatience. 

“ You will marry,” she continued, “ and you will do 
right. You will have children, who will grow up to be 
men like you, — then, if I can look down from Heaven, 
I shall be happy, — perfectly happy.” 

The following day, as she had said, Antonine breathed 
her last, without a struggle. 

Her death was as great a blow to the family as if they 
had never expected it. 

She was laid out in the handsomest room in the 
house, where old Karzof, half crazy from grief, . walked 
backwards and forwards, pressing his daughter’s hands, 
trying to persuade himself that stiffness was not death. 
The mother, busy about many things, had not time to 
feel so keenly ; remorse would sting her when all was 
quiet, the house in order again, and nothing to divert 
her from that terrible sorrow. 

Dournof, who had not slept one hour out of the 
twenty-four, watched by Antonine ’s body with the 
Priest, who read prayers ; they relieved each other every 
three hours. Every now and then Dournof would leave 
his chair, to arrange a ribbon or a fold of that white 
dress, or change the position of the flowers which were 


THE GRAVE. 


157 


scattered everywhere ; then he would solemnly kiss the 
forehead and hands of Antonine, and sit down again. 
Sometimes sleep would overcome him, and he would 
lean his head against the wall, and fall asleep. He 
reproached himself for losing those few moments in his 
watch by the precious remains, which were so soon to 
be taken away forever. 

The third day, the house was filled with the family, 
and friends ; they bore the casket containing the body 
of the young girl to the church. 

She was very beautiful, and her expression so angelic 
that they did not cover her face, but enveloped her in a 
muslin vail, as if she were dressed for her wedding ; 
and thus, under the bright June sunshine, they carried 
her to the little church. 

During the burial service Dournof stood near the 
coffin looking at it with jealous eyes. When the time 
came to 'give a parting kiss to the deceased, he followed 
her parents, and imprinted a long, cold embrace upon 
the waxen hands of his fiancee. When all had per- 
formed this sad duty, the sacristans came forward with 
the lid, but he ordered them to stop, and asked in a low 
tone : 

“ Is there any one else ? ” 

They looked at him with astonishment, but answered 
not. 

He then bent over the cold form, kissed passionately 
that pure forehead, those sunken cheeks, and emaciated 
hands, and as if in desperation, himself screwed down 
the lid securely without assistance, then walked away. 


158 


THE GRAVE. 


The relatives of the young girl understood his wishes, 
and did not oppose him ; after the lips of Dournof, no 
human being would touch that beloved face, which 
could never be his on earth. 

He heard a voice near him, as they carried Antonine 
to the grave, in the place she had selected, where the 
last rays of the setting sun would rest upon it, saying : 

“ You and I alone loved her; the others did not know 
her.” 

Dournof turned, and saw Niania. She was not weep- 
ing, but the joy of her life was buried in that tomb. 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


159 


CHAPTER XVI. 

SECOND THOUGHTS. 

T he Karzofs did not remain long in the house where 
their daughter had breathed her last. Very differ- 
ent from Dournof, who could have passed his life in 
Antonine’s room, looking upon the spot where she had 
ceased to breathe ; but it was too painful for her 
parents to stay in a place where the associations were 
so sad. They returned to the city. Madame Karzof, 
always practical, rented her villa to some English 
people, who could find no other house, as the season 
was so far advanced. They went back to St. Peters- 
burg, and resumed their accustomed occupations. 

Karzof went to his office in the morning, mechani- 
cally doing his work, scolding some negligent clerk, 
signing papers, and seeing a few men on business ; then 
would return home. There was nothing changed. In 
former days, Antonine’s piano, now silent, could be 
heard at the foot of the stairs. As soon as he would 
ring the music stopped, and the young girl’s graceful 
form appeared in the doorway. Now, he entered the 
lonely house with his head bowed, gave his overcoat to 
the heart-broken Niania, went hurriedly through the 
salon without looking around him, for every article 
recalled to the affiicted father his lost daughter. 


160 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


He found his wife sitting by a window with glasses 
on — her eyes had grown old from much weeping — 
knitting woolen socks for her husband and son. Karzof 
would breathe a sigh of grief, as well as of fatigue, and, 
according to his habit for the last thirty years, would 
ask, what had happened during his absence. 

What was there to tell? Nothing had happened. 
Formerly the house was full of merriment and life, 
Antonine’s young friends and their brothers coming 
and going incessantly ; there was never a day but the 
bell rang at least ten times. Who would come now ? 
Jean shunned this house, so full of painful souvenirs, 
and would not remain in it except at night. He 
reproached himself for thus forsaking his parents, but 
he did not love to be with them, and their grief rather 
excited his anger than pity. 

“It was their foolishness,” he would say, “their 
pride, which lost us our beloved Antonine ! ” and finally 
all compassion in his heart died out. 

Jean was one of those who could not understand any 
one committing errors from ignorance. His education 
and natural talents elevated him far above his parents, 
although he did not boast of it, for he had too much 
sense to be proud of any superiority, but he could not 
understand the weaknessess and defects among the less 
enlightened. He might pity but not excuse. 

After the first pangs of grief were over, Madame 
Karzof began to rebel ; she could not bear the idea of 
being in fault. Her conceit, which had been unalterable 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


161 


through life, would not suffer her to think she had 
committed the least error. She pondered over this 
subject for several weeks, debating the accusation made 
by her own conscience, and after long research, found 
some one else guilty of Antonine’s death. 

“ Do you know, Karzof,” said she to her husband, 
after a solitary dinner, and the two were alone in the 
old man’s library, “ do you know, if it had not been for 
Dournof, our Antonine would have been with us still, 
living and beautiful?” 

Karzof shook his head, sadly; his conscience could 
not accommodate itself so easily to a defeat, but he did 
not wish to contradict his wife, so he said nothing. 

“ Yes,” repeated Madame Karzof, “ it is Dournof s 
fault that we lost our daughter ! It was he who led her 
into that absurd love affair ! If he had had any heart he 
would have understood^ immediately, that she was not 
for him, and given up the chase. I said from the first, 
and still maintain, that he was only a fortune hunter.” 

“ Antonine was not so very rich,” said Karzof, timidly, 
“ I believe he loved her for herself alone.” 

“You know nothing about it, then,” replied the indig- 
nant mother, with vehemence, “ if he had loved her for 
herself he would have preferred the girl’s happiness to 
his own, and would have advised her to make a judi- 
cious, brilliant marriage, to satisfy everybody. But he 
thought only of himself, the egotist ! ” 

“ He loved her,” said the old man, quietly. 

“ He loved her ! that is a nice thing to say ! so did I 

10 


162 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


love her, and because T did, I wanted to see her rich 
and well married. What kind of love is that which 
cannot deny itself?” 

Karzof thought to himself that there was a time when 
he loved his wife with a love similar to Dournof’s ; as 
she did not return it, her happiness consisted in her 
selfishness. But the old man had had no will of his 
own for years, and, even if he felt his wife was in the 
wrong, he dared not say so, but was silent. 

For some time, Niania had been in the room prepa- 
ring the tea, but Madame Karzof did not notice her. 

‘‘It was Dournof,” she continued, “who was the 
cause of our misfortune, it was his persistence which 
forced her, poor dear, to seek death ! He is a miserable 
wretch and coward, and was thinking of his own 
interest ! ” 

Niania stepped toward the taj^ and gazed at Madame 
Karzof, who still in an angry mood, continued : 

“ He wanted to marry Antonine, but not without our 
consent, for he was afraid she might be disinherited, 
and without money, he had no wish for her hand.” 

“Madame,” said the solemn voice of Niania, suddenly; 
“ you offend the Almighty ! ” 

“What?” said the mother, who could scarcely be- 
lieve her ears. 

“ You insult God when you slander the innocent ! 
Dournof loved our Antonine for herself, and offered to 
run away with her ! ” 

“If she had only listened to him!” groaned tha 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


163 


unhappy woman, “ she might have been living now, and 
we would have forgiven her.” 

“ You told that poor saint in heaven, that your curse 
would follow her forever if she married without your 
consent. She believed you, but she was wrong, and 
you have just admitted it.” 

Madame Karzof had nothing to say. Her husband 
listened in silence, scarcely understanding what was 
passing around him. 

“ You are like most other women,” Niania continued ; 

— “ you threaten very fiercely, then give w^ay to those 
who flatter you. Neither Antonine, or the man she had * 
chosen, were like this ; they listened, were silent, and 
obeyed, however painful it might have been. But what 
you asked of them, was contrary to the will of God. 
Yes, they were wrong to believe you; they should have 
disobeyed you. But Antonine was too conscientious ; 
she would rather die than sin.” 

Madame Karzof sobbed violently, and tears streamed 
down the old man’s face. 

“ You said, just now, that Dournof was the cause of 
our lamb’s death. It is not true, Madame, and you 
know it is not true ! Antonine died from grief, and it 
was your fault, Madame ! She told you she would die, 
but you did not believe it, because you once said the 
same thing yourself. You should have known her 
character was different from yours ; she did not speak 
meaningless words, our Antonine, but acted without 


164 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


talking about it. Yes, somebody killed our Antonine, 
and that somebody was her mother ! ” 

“ Niania ! Niania ! ” cried Madame Karzof, hastily 
rising from her chair. 

“ I am not afraid of you,” said the old woman, qui- 
etly. “ I have grieved so much, I don’t care if I die 
or not, then you could do me no ill. But it was you 
who killed Antonine, all the same.” 

“ Leave this house ! ” cried Madame Karzof. “ Impu- 
dent woman ! to blame your superiors ! I order you to 
leave at once ! ” 

“ Wife,” interceded the old man ; “ she loves us, and 
has reared our children. She is foolish, leave her 
alone ! ” 

“ Depart immediately ! ” repeated the indignant mat- 
ron. “ I command you to leave ! You were the cause 
of our misery ! you dragged our angel into harm ! ” 

“Ah ! Madame ! ” said the old nurse, crossing herself; 
“ may God forgive you what you have said ! I am going 
away, and I leave without regret, now that Master Jean 
is able to take care of himself. The nest is empty ! I 
go, Madame ! ” 

The old nurse curtsied almost to the floor before the 
woman she had served thirty years, then left the room 
in a dignified manner. A moment after, a young 
servant entered, who had been engaged since Antonine’s 
sickness, bringing in the tea service to prepare for the 
evening meal. 

Madame Karzof, more annoyed than angered, was 


SECOND THOUGHTS. 


165 


silent for a few moments; then, unable to control 
herself longer, she asked, 

“ Where is Niania ? ” 

“ She has gone out,” responded the girl, respectfully. 
“ Where has she gone ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Madame. She did not say.” 

Karzof looked at his wife reproachfully. Her eyes 
fell, and she continued to knit faster than ever, without 
saying a word. 


166 


GKATITUDE. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

GRATITUDE. 

D OURNOP was alone in his room, after a hard day’s 
work. He pushed aside the papers which encum- 
bered his desk, and sat with his head resting in his 
hands, and eyes fixed on vacancy — he was dreaming. 

It was the hour that he devoted to the past ; after 
spending the day running hither and thither, making 
researches, preparing briefs, he took a little respite just 
at sundown. 

During the hot summer-days, which are so dreary in 
the city, a continual line of carriages rolled along 
towards the islands, filled with weary passengers sigh- 
ing for the cool breezes and green grass. Dournof did 
not go to see the sun set at the “ Point ” as was the 
custom, but remained at home, alone, absorbed in 
thought ; living over those past few weeks he had spent 
with her who had been restored to him and lost again, 
and in that time he had drank the cup of joy, and 
naught was left but the bitter dregs. The distant 
rumbling of the carriages on the Troitsky bridge, made 
a solemn accompaniment to his melancholy thoughts, 
and often, long after the noise ceased and a band of red 
in the east announced the sunrise, did Dournof make 
up his mind to go to bed. 

When the first sting of sorrow was over, he reached 


GKATITUDE. 


167 


that period of mourning when one takes cruel delight in 
recalling the most harrowing souvenirs ; he thought of 
the dying Antonine, of the last tender agonizing look of 
the young girl, who tried to recognize him even after 
the shadow of death had blinded her eyes ; it was these 
mournful pictures he loved to dwell upon, while they 
wrung his very heart-strings, thinking of her who was 
lost to him forever. 

The last rays of the sun had died away, dust had 
settled on the open window-sill, when the bell rung. 
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently, cursed the 
intruder, and sat still. 

After a short interval, the bell rang again. Dournof 
hesitated, made an effort to rise, but it was too much 
trouble to open the door for some bore who would 
divert him from his thoughts, and ask a thousand ques- 
tions, so he buried his head in his hands again, and 
resumed his revery. A third quick and violent ring, 
as if some person was in great distress, made him start. 
In spite of himself, he rose and opened the door. 

“Niania!” he exclaimed, recognizing the old wom- 
an’s rigid face. “Niania! where did you come from? 
Come in ! come in ! ” 

He stepped inside, and she followed him. 

“Sit down,” Dournof said. “What do you want 
with me, my dear? Ah ! I am glad to see you ” 

He was so overcome he could say no more. He 
sincerely and tenderly loved this old woman, who had 
been Antonine’s real mother. He felt a certain respect 


168 


GRATITUDE. 


for those asutere lips, which had uttered the last prayers 
ever heard by the dying girl. He loved those wrinkled, 
trembling hands, which had shrouded the body of his 
beloved ; those eyes which had watched her last agony, 
and wept over her bier ; this old woman was all he 
loved on earth, for Antonine’s parents were nothing to 
him. 

“ I cannot sit down,” said the old woman, still stand- 
ing before him. “ I have a favor to ask, and one does 
not ask favors sitting.” 

“ A favor ? anything you ask ! ” said Dournof, “ I 
am not rich, but all I possess ” 

The old woman shook her head and said : 

“It is neither money nor clothes I want. I have 
come to ask you, master, if I may be your servant?” 

“ My servant ? ” said the young man much surprised. 

“ Yes,” repeated the woman, with a deep reverence. 
“ Your servant until my death, which is not far off, I 
hope. I want no wages, I have plenty of clothes, I 
only ask you for bread, and salt, I want to wait on you.” 

“I am willing,” replied the astonished Dournof, 
“but why do you not wish to remain with the Kar- 
zofs?” 

“ She drove me away ! ” said Mania, responding 
rather to her ’ own thoughts, than Dournof ’s question, 
“ she drove me away, she pretends that you and I are 
the cause of our angel’s death ; so you see we can do 
nothing else but live together, if we are such sinners 
as she says,” and Niania made a gesture of profound 
contempt. 


GRATITUDE. 


169 


In saying this, she showed such intense feeling, that 
Dournof realized the profound hatred she had for her 
former masters ; all her fidelity was concentrated upon 
Antonine, and that was buried in the tomb. 

“ Come to my house,” said he, “ come, and we can 
talk of her, for we loved her, we ” 

Niania took the young man’s hand and carried it to 
her lips, before he could withdraw it. 

“You are my master,” she said. “I am going to 
tell them down stairs that I am engaged by you, and 
will come to-morrow. Can you lodge me ? ” 

“That is all the place I have,” he said, opening a 
little, dark room where he kept his clothes, and books. 

“ That is nice,” answered Niania, “ You will see 
what good care I will take of you.” 

Without further words, she left. The next morning 
she returned with a small package of garments, and 
settled herself in Dournof s home. 

“ What did they say ? ” he asked with some curiosity 
to know what had happened at the Karzofs. 

“ That I was ungrateful, wicked, and miserable ! — 
The old man wept. I would have remained for his 
sake, but I never want to see her again.” 

“ She is to be pitied,” murmured Dournof. 

“ It is all her fault and so much the worse for her,” 
replied the old woman fiercely. “We all suffer on her 
account, why should she not suffer ? it is only fair.” 

Dournof never again saw the Karzofs ; a little later 
the old man took to his bed, and in six weeks died, 


170 


GRATITUDE. 


more from worry, than grief. Madame Karzof, tor- 
mented by remorse, which she would not accept, always 
struggling with herself, and quarreling with others, 
retired to the provinces to live with a relative. 

Jean alone preserved his friendship for Dournof, and 
his kindly feeling for the old woman. 

Sometimes he came to see them, and all three would 
spend their time recalling the bitter past; then Jean 
obtained a position in the provinces, and Dournof was 
left alone with the old nurse to battle with life, wherein 
one must either conquer or perish. 


FIDELITY. 


171 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

FIDELITY. 

D OURNOF was not a man to give way under trials, 
his immense vitality and great energy proved by 
his constancy to Antonine, inspired him with the cour- 
age for the battle of life. He knew what poverty was, 
for, during the young girl’s illness he had spent his little 
capital to furnish her with a few delicacies; the old 
nurse and he, often dined on a handful of oatmeal 
bought on credit, but the black bread of fruitless labor, 
instead of enfeebling them, seemed to increase their 
strength. During these months of trial, Niania was 
more than ever convinced she had done well to choose 
Dournof for a master, as she loved him more and more. 

Desperate work overcomes all obstacles : this maxim 
of Dournof’s, was finally successful; about eighteen 
months after Antonine’s death, a curious law suit 
brought out his talents, and as often happens he woke 
one fine day and found himself famous. Consultations 
and orders fiowed in from all sides ; he received offers 
from the Minister of Justice but could scarcely believe 
his ears when he found himself Judge of the Court of 
Appeals, yet could not tell how he got there ; he heard 
whispers of favoritism towards himself, broken promises 
to others, for grumblers were numerous ; however, the 
Minister soon silenced this by saying : 


172 


FIDELITY. 


“ If those who have more talent will only prove it, I 
will promote them higher still.” 

Dournof was considered a sort of intruder before 
•this, and out of pure benevolence was received into a 
circle far above his rank ; but now. President Dournof 
was a most wonderful man, who had given remarkable 
proofs of astonishing ability, and every one was very 
glad and proud, to meet him. The aristocracy held 
still somewhat aloof, but that would be done away with 
in time. 

The young president bore his good fortune with the 
same calmness with which he endured his poverty ; the 
Judicial Ermine did not affect his brain. Niania, who 
had spent the half of her savings in burning candles 
before the Images for him during his obscurity, still 
resided with him, but he took an apartment becoming 
his new rank, had a man servant who opened the door, 
and a foreign cook replaced Niania in the kitchen, who 
was promoted to the position of housekeeper. Dournof 
always retained his simplicity of manner and profound 
indifference to worldly things. The mourning which 
he wore in his heart, still prevented him from appearing 
in society. 

During that trying time whenever he felt himself 
giving way, he had a sure refuge for his overtaxed 
brain, and heart, broken down by sorrow. After he 
had spent a day of profitless work, his eyes paining him, 
and his head feeling heavy, he would on a summer’s 
night start off on the road to Pargoloro. 


FIDELITY. 


173 


This journey never seemed long to him. He knew 
each post on the road so full of memories, along which 
he had borne his fast-failing Antonine. 

The clear darkness of a summer night was falling 
gently on the peaceful scene when he started, the 
atmosphere became grayish rather than dark, for in 
those northern climes the twilight lingers so late that 
one can read even at midnight. 

The sun was just rising in the east, about two o’clock, 
when he reached the Cemetery. Nothing marked its 
limits — in Russia they never think of protecting 
graves, for desecration of tombs is a thing unknown 
there. He climbed the side of the hill, and soon reached 
the iron cross, resting on a granite base, which marked 
the last resting place of Antonine. 

There, seated on the cold stone, he confided to the 
beloved dead all his griefs, his lost hopes and disap- 
pointments; he wept without shame upon this grave 
which contained the best part of himself. The dawn- 
ing day found him there still, for it was at that hour 
that the young girl’s soul took flight, and then fell his 
most bitter tears, from a heart brimming over with 
sorrow. Then, relieved and consoled, he returned to 
the city, dejected it is true, but hearing the echo of 
Antonine’s last words : 

“ You will work, for I desire it, and become useful 
to your country.” 

“What weakness I show in comparison to that 
indomitable courage necessary to meet death!” he 


174 


FIDELITY. 


thought, and, ashamed of his little strength, Dournof 
returned to his labors with new resolutions. 

Niania, who knew his habits, awaited his coming all 
night. She wiped away the tears in her weary eyes, 
and while preparing a frugal repast, asked in a low 
tone : 

“ Is everything in order there ? ” 

“ Yes,’! replied Dournof — “everything.” 

She uttered a deep sigh, and looked compassionately 
at him, as she carefully attended to his wants. 

Winter interrupted his visits to Antonine’s tomb, for 
the roads in that deserted place were almost impassable 
in the winter season, although Dournof went out seve- 
ral times in a sleigh. He would leave the vehicle at 
the inn, and wade through the snow to the hill which 
overhung the frozen quiet lake. But this pious 
pilgrimage was spoiled by the presence of the coach- 
man, who, sometimes drunk, was always vulgar, as 
he would often curse, in an undertone, the simpleton 
whose idiocy would compel a servant to go over forty 
kilometres of deserted roads in mid-winter. Dournof 
waited with impatience the return of spring to resume 
his visits to the Cemetery. 

At the first signs of vegetation, he was there. For- 
tune had not then changed for him, but he felt he was 
on the eve of success ; a thousand insignificant signs, 
precursors of this new dawn, filled his heart with joy- 
ful impatience. This suppressed agitation was like the 
restive pawing of a horse ready for a journey, or the 


FIDELITY. 


175 


flapping of a bird’s wings preparing for flight. To- 
day it was almost with joy that he whispered his 
prayer to Antonine, full of his hopes and ambitions, 
and it seemed to him the dead girl answered : 

“ I knew it would be thus.” 

The following year, when his nomination fell so sud- 
denly upon him, like the royal purple, he was so 
astonished, so upset by this unexpected honor, that it 
took him several days to recover. Everything had 
changed around him, indeed those who approached 
him were not the same towards him ; his subordinates, 
only yesterday his equals, and even his superiors, 
showed a certain respect in their manners to which he 
was unaccustomed. All this obsequious flattery, which 
must be expected by those elected to power, instead of 
turning his head, rather disgusted him. 

“I am the same as before, why should they be 
changed?” 

However, he adapted himself to his new position ; 
and Niania, always the same to him, offered her sincere 
congratulations to her master only in the expression 
of heartfelt joy in her eyes — and she showed no more 
deference or attention than before. Her usual kindness 
prompted her to see that everything surrounding her 
young master was in conformity with his new circum- 
stances; and when he was disgusted with the gross 
flatteries of public life, he would turn to the humble 
woman for comfort. 

“Are you happy, Niania?” he asked, one evening, 
upon his return from a dinner at the Minister’s. 


176 


FIDELITY. 


“ I am content,” she replied, gravely. “ How happy 
the beloved dead would be to see you, now ! ” 

Dournof blushed. During the whole evening, while 
he was enjoying the fresh honors thrust upon him, he 
had not once thought of Antonine, and yet it was she 
who bade him have strength and courage to pursue his 
labors. 

He slept little that night, and in the morning took a 
carriage, went to the florist’s, and ordered a superb 
white wreath. 

An hour later, the perfume of the flowers filled his 
study; notwithstanding the rigorous season they had 
found roses, camelias, jasmines, tuberoses, and lilacs, all 
of immaculate whiteness. Dournof contemplated his 
offering for a few minutes, when his ambitious joy was 
swallowed by keen regret. 

How happy would she have been, that noble girl who 
had consented to bear his name ! What pure, disinter- 
ested pleasure would have filled her soul ! With what 
dignity would she have shared his fortune ! 

He remained silent and thoughtful, so that he did 
not notice Niania, who came in quietly, and stood by 
his side. 

“ Poor child,” said the old nurse, in so low a voice 
that Dournof did not hear, “that is her wedding 
crown ! ” 

She bent over and piously kissed a bunch of orange 
flowers hidden in the green leaves. 

Dournof carried the funereal wreath himself, for he 


FIDELITY. 


177 


would not trust it to any one else. Just as he was 
stepping into the carriage a sleigh turned the corner of 
the street, and in it, surrounded by swan’s down, he 
saw the pretty little rosy face of a young girl, sitting 
by the Minister, who bowed to Dournof. The young 
man recognized Mademoiselle Marianne, his patron’s 
daughter, with whom he had conversed the evening 
before at her father’s dinner. She wore white at the 
dinner. 

The sleigh passed, and Dournof succeeded in placing 
his enormous wreath in the carriage. Soon after the 
houses of old Petersburg, partially covered with snow, 
began to disappear, as he followed the route to Finland. 

The snow concealed Antonine’s tomb, for the un- 
faithful, indolent gardener had neglected his duty. 
Dournof found a pickaxe, and by the sweat of his brow, 
dug out the block of granite. 

When this work was finished, he placed on the cross 
his fragile offering which would so soon be withered by 
the chilling winds, then stood aside to gaze a moment 
upon the simple monument. 

Less than three years before, he had placed there all 
that was dear to him. Bending over the border of that 
grave, he thought life had no charm for him, and wished 
to die — he had lived, notwithstanding! What an 
abyss separated the poor nobody — rejected by an 
ordinary family of the middle class — from the Presi- 
dent, now respected by everybody. It took only three 

years to accomplish this work ! and yet ” 

11 


178 


FIDELITY. 


Doiirnof thought, had it not been for Madame Kai^ 
zof ’s obstinacy, he might have now claimed Antonine, 
and that far from refusing him, her family would con- 
sider his proposal an honor, and he pitied the vanity of 
human nature. Then another thought flashed across 
his mind. Any family would accept a proposal from 
him ; at present, the world was open to him. 

“You will marry,” Antonine had said. This thought, 
which he had never considered before, presented itself 
in a new light. He must have a wife — but not now — 
he would put it off as long as possible. It would be 
merely to establish a family and have heirs, that he 
would marry. 

“ Ah ! darling Antonine ! ” he murmured, as he put 
his lips to the cold granite ; “ it will be a cruel sacrifice, 
for I can love only thee ! ” 

He returned to the city about four o’clock. Night 
was falling; the merry bustle which precedes the 
dinner-hour, dazzling lights, all the din of a luxurious, 
pleasure -loving city, led his thoughts into a new 
channel. Worldly life had thrown its lasso upon 
him. The poor student, without fortune or future, 
could afford to neglect appearances, but President 
Dournof dared not. 

He went home, and dined. He was cold, and in 
order to get warm he put on a white cravat and went 
to the opera. 

Fortunately, they did not play “Lucie,” because it 
would have recalled too vividly the sad past. A very 


FIDELITY. 


179 


good company, were giving “Don Pasquale.” They 
made the entr'actes long, as it is a short opera, for they 
could not dismiss the audience until half-past ten 
o’clock. 

During the entr'acte^ Dournof, examining the house 
with his opera glass, recognized the Minister in his box. 
He bowed respectfully ; the salute was returned by a 
little sign of invitation. 

The young man left his seat, and soon found his way 
to the box. He was not the only one who came to pay 
his respects to His Excellency, but, being the youngest 
in age as well as promotion, he was particularly noticed 
by the Minister. 

“Well, M. Dournof,” he said, good naturedly, “we 
are waiting to see your wreath presented. It ought to 
be here ” 

“ Excuse me, your Excellency ! I do not understand. 
What wreath ? ” 

“ Why, the one you could scarcely get in the carriage, 
this morning,” replied M. Mdrof. “Seeing you here, 
to-night, I thought, of course, your floral offering was 
for Patti ! ” 

The pretty Marianne, who was seated in the front of 
the loge^ ceased to use her opera glass and looked 
earnestly at the young President. A man who will 
give a wreath worth five hundred francs to a canta trice, 
is always interesting. 

Dournof turned pale, and started back. 

“Excuse me. Your Excellence,” said he, in a low 


180 


FIDELITY. 


tone ; “ that wreath I carried to Pargolora, and placed 
it on the tomb of my fiancee^ who died three years ago.” 

Although he spoke in the lowest possible tones, 
supposing no one but the Minister could hear him, the 
answer reached Marianne’s ears, for she pointed to a 
vacant seat near her, and said to the young President : 

“ Sit down, Monsieur Dournof.” 

The Minister, who was a most excellent man, made 
a thousand apologies. He was not born on the steps of 
a throne, and his origin was as humble as Dournof ’s; 
but having reached his high position by extraordinary 
talents, and coming into these honors comparatively 
late in life, he did not bear them gracefully ; not that 
he was wanting in merit, but in that taste which one 
finds among men of the world, accustomed to society ; 
if he had been, he would never have been guilty of tliis 
breach of etiquette. 

Again and again, did he apologize for his mistake, 
and Dournof, being very kind-hearted, tried not to show 
that he was wounded. 

The end of this little scene, was an invitation to 
dinner, the following Monday, which the young man 
accepted graciously, then left the theatre. 

Marianne’s opera -glass searched in vain for him, 
during the third act. 


WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 181 


CHAPTER XIX. 


WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 

OU don’t know, my dear! A man who will 



X place flowers on a fiancee^ s grave, after three 
years! That is fiction, a dream of fidelity! Those 
things seldom happen ! ” 

“You are right, Marianne; they rarely occur!” 
replied the knowing V dra ; “ and I don’t believe a word 
of that story.” 

“ But what could he have done with the flowers ? ” 

Vera shrugged her shoulders significantly. “There 
would be no difficulty in disposing of flowers, I fancy. 
There are plenty of ladies in St. Petersburg, of all 
kinds, who would be glad to accept them.” 

“Yes, flowers! or a bouquet! but a pure white 
wreath, is different ! ” 

“The fact is,” continued Vera, “a white wreath 
would only be offered to some adored one — one who 
stands upon a pinnacle higher than Alexander’s col- 
umn ! ” 

“See here, Vera, you are teasing me! That is not 
fair, when you see I am interested.” 

“ Oh ! if Monsieur Dournof interests you, I will say 
nothing more, you may be sure.” 

“Interests me! — well, yes, he interests me on 


182 WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 


account of his fidelity. I thought one only found that 
in romances.” 

“Bah!” exclaimed Vera; “that is all put on. It 
gives a man a certain position.” 

“ Aren’t you ashamed ? ” 

And Marianne, horrified, stopped the conversation 
by getting up and walking around the room. 

“ A proof that it gives a man a position is, that you 
are interested in this one ; otherwise, you would not 
notice him I Is he handsome ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Marianne, with a pout. 

“ Can one see him ? ” 

“ He is coming to dinner, this evening.” 

“ Very weU, then I will come to tea, for I am curious 
to see in the flesh, a man who has been faithful three 
years to a memory. What was the name of that young 
girl?” 

“ I don’t know, I must find out,” said Marianne, with 
an air of decision. 

“ I want to know too, since I don’t believe a word of 
it. Don’t be uneasy, for I will know.” 

“ And how ? ” 

“We have in the court of Chancery, a crafty old 
door-keeper, who knows everything; if we give him 
the young man’s name we can find out all we want 
to know.” 

Mademoiselle V^ra was the daughter of the Minister’s 
Assistant, an official position unknown in France, but 
very much sought after in Russia, as it gives a man 


WHAT MAEIANNE THOUGHT. 183 


mucli power and little responsibility, as well as a chance 
of bringing into play all the talents he possesses. 

Mademoiselle V^ra departed with an injunction to 
her friend to make herself beautiful that night. 

Marianne was a pretty blonde, of seventeen summers, 
with a complexion like mother of pearl, eyes blue as 
forget-me-nots, small and graceful in figure. But for 
her bright expression, and quick movements, she would 
have resembled a beautiful little English doll. Her 
mother had appropriately named her, Perpetuum 
mohiley 

The daughter of a Minister is always surrounded by 
admirers, even if she is ugly, and stupid ; but Marianne 
would have been admired anyway, for her dainty grace, 
her good humor and coquettish ways — for her admir- 
able qualities in short, and for her faults. Many young 
men, and some not so young, aspired openly to win 
her pretty little plump hand. Marianne kept them all 
at an equal distance — we are figuratively speaking — 
for the distance was very unequal ; but the freakish girl 
always rectified matters by snubbing those she had 
flattered the day before, and the one highest in favor 
to-day was ignored on the morrow. It was thus Mari- 
anne balanced accounts. 

In ransacking her drawers to find ^ becoming toilette, 
the young girl commenced to reflect seriously, and the 
object of her thoughts was Dournof. 

Three years faithful to a grave, was a thing unheard 
of, except in novels ; but the hero of this story really 


184 WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 


existed, she had seen him, and would see him again . 
What an event in her life I 

Marianne in her own mind wove a little romance of 
the two lovers and decided that he had met Antonine 
at a fete — fallen in love with her — asked her hand in 
marriage, and she had given it ; the evening of the mar- 
riage, a dreadful accident struck her down, even with the 
bridal veil on; the inconsolable fiance had sworn to 
devote his affections to the remembrance of his lost 
happiness. 

“The woman he loves,” thought the young girl, 
“ would be sure of his love.” 

A second reflection naturally followed : 

“ It would not be easy to combat a souvenir, conse- 
crated by such devotion ! ” she thought. 

Then a third reflection, as just and not less logical 
than the others, was : 

“ What glory it would be to supplant such a souve- 
nir, to take the place of that adored shadow, to make 
him unfaithful to the dead ! ” 

A last thought, less clearly defined, concluded the 
series : 

“ Would that be very difficult to do ? ” 

And Marianne’s busy fingers stopped in their task of 
arranging the mas*es of golden hair which curled all 
over her head. She resumed her task, and soon suc- 
ceeded in accomplishing a simple, girlish style of 
coiffure. 

During the dinner, where Madame Mdrof nominally 


WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 185 

presided, but virtually her daughter did, Dournof paid 
no attention to the eminent men invited to meet him. 
It was something so neAV and strange for him to be 
brought in such close proximity with illustrious person- 
ages he had only known by name. When dinner was 
over, and the company dispersed in the salons, the 
young man was somewhat wearied from the extraordi- 
nary strain on his brain in the past few weeks, and now 
that he had been admitted in this charmed circle of 
high officials, where one never is willing to leave, he 
felt a certain languor overcome him, with his success. 

He admired the pictures, the furniture selected in 
good taste, the elegant toilettes of some of the ladies, 
friends of Madame M^rof; then his eyes rested with 
pleasure upon Mademoiselle Marianne, who was 
sitting just in front of him. 

She had her back turned toward him, but could see 
him in the mirror. He could not see her unless she 
turned around, so she made it a point to move her 
beautiful head to a position where the young man could 
see her most advantageously. The soft, light hair, 
carefully arranged, fell over that pure white forehead ; 
no jewel, except a simple cross attached to an invisible 
chain ; no ribbons, nothing but white muslin over white 
silk — all one soft cloud ! 

“The Minister’s daughter is a beautiful girl,” said 
Dournof to himself, then thought no more about her. 
In a short time he looked again at this attractive object 
— and said again — “ She must be charming I ” 


186 WHAT MAEIAHHE THOUGHT. 


Marianne seemed to have divined his thoughts, for 
she arose quietly, unlike her usual petulancy, perched 
herself like a bird close to Dournof, with a little move- 
ment that was very fascinating, and said to him : 

“ Have you forgiven us. Monsieur ? ” in a voice full 
of tenderness and humility. 

“Pardon, I do not understand. I do not think. 
Mademoiselle, I have anything to pardon.” 

“ Oh ! yes,” replied the young girl ; my father and I 
wounded you the other evening at the theatre. I saw 
it. If you knew how much we regretted it. Had I 
only known Monsieur I Believe me, such souvenirs are 
sacred even to the most indifferent, — I hope you will 
look upon it as heedlessness.” 

Dournof at first frowned. Any allusion to his most 
cherished souvenirs was like stabbing him to the very 
heart ; but the young girl was so ingenuous in making 
her artless excuses, and finally the word “heedless- 
ness,” applied to Minister M^rof, appeared to him so 
comical, he could not suppress a smile. 

“ Don’t mention it,” said he good-naturedly. 

That was not Marianne’s little scheme ; she wanted 
to mention it, on the contrary; and returned to the 
subject by rather a circuitous channel. 

“ Where did you find those superb flowers ? ” 

Dournof gave the florist’s name. 

“I hope they arrived fresh. Did you take them 
far?” 

“ To Pargolora,” responded Dournof, with some little 


WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 187 


feeling of shame to be talking of Antonine’s tomb in 
this brilliantly-lighted salon, with a young girl in full 
ball-dress, who, the evening before, was a total stranger 
to him. But for some time past everything was strange 
and new around him. 

“ So far ! and it was so cold ! You deserve much 
credit. Monsieur.” 

Not knowing what to reply, Dournof looked fixedly 
at his fair interlocutress, who returned his glance with 
an expression full of deference, admiration, and tender 
pity, — one of those looks by which a woman shows 
that she finds the man with whom she is speaking 
greatly her superior. 

Dournof w’as somewhat affected, even touched by 
this, for he had been little spoiled by the world thus 
far. 

“ This is a good girl,” he thought, “ and really she is 
very pretty. What candor ! ” 

Yes, it was true, Marianne was candid. She acted 
well her part in this little comedy; to use a Parisian 
vulgarism, which expresses her frame of mind exactly, 
she thought she had “struck it.” She really felt a 
tender compassion for this young man who had been so 
severely tried. First of all, she was anxious to know 
his history, and was willing to endure anything to learn 
it, even her mother’s reprimands, who would certainly 
scold her daughter for talking so long with a man who 
was almost a stranger to her. 

“You are very happy, Monsieur?” said Marianne, 
sighing softly. 


188 WHAT MARIANNE THOUGHT. 


Dournof looked at her in astonishment, and could 
not understand how any one’s felicity could excite the 
envy of a young creature like this — beautiful, wealthy, 
and of high position. 

“ And why ? ” said he, surprised. 

Marianne arose, and left the room, without replying. 

Dournof reflected a moment, and wondered what this 
meant, then remembered that he was not alone. These 
words, thrown to the winds by Marianne, as one throws 
a gold piece “ heads or tails , struck upon his imagina- 
tion, and made a deep impression. 

“ Why should I be happy ? ” he asked himself that 
night when he went home and recapitulated the day’s 
doings. This question, annoying, because it was an 
enigma, came into his mind many times afterwards. 

Marianne said to herself, as she stood before the 
mirror undressing : 

“ It seems to me it will not be such a difficult matter 
after all.” 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


189 


% 

CHAPTER XX. 

TELLING FORTUNES. 

T he next morning, Mademoiselle Merof was seated 
at the piano, where she spent several hours of 
torture every day, when her friend Vdra entered the 
room with a triumphant air. After the usual kissing 
and caressing, jests and jokes, the young girls sat down 
on a sofa, away from any door, consequently far from 
indiscreet listeners. 

“ I know all ! ” whispered V^ra. 

“ What all ? ” said Marianne, innocently. 

V^ra placed her fore-finger upon her little pink, flat- 
tish nose, significantly. 

Marianne began to laugh, and pulling her companion 
nearer by the watch-chain, said submissively : 

“ Tell me all you know.” 

Vera, proud of her superior knowledge, assumed an 
ossianic expression. 

“ She was from an obscure but honest family. They 

loved each other for two years ” 

“Two years!” interrupted Marianne, lifting her 
eyes heavenward. “There are persons who can love 
two years, then I ” 

“Two years,” continued V^ra, without being discon- 
certed. “ A young girl, from the middle class.” 


190 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


“ What was her name ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle Karzof.” 

“ I want to know her first name.” 

“I don’t know it,” answered V^ra, a little confused; 
“ my old detective did not inform himself of that.” 

Marianne pouted a little, and Vera went on with 
her story without paying any attention to her. 

“ Mademoiselle Karzof ’s parents wanted a rich, titled 
son-in-law, therefore refused to give their daughter to 
this — this handsome young man.” 

The narrator looked at Marianne out of the corner 
of her eye, but the latter did not frown. 

“ And the young girl, who, it seems, madly loved the 
young man, purposely went into a rapid consumption. 

“ Oh ! heavens ! ” exclaimed Marianne, shuddering ; 
“ and is she dead ? ” 

“ She died in three months. The parents consented 
to the marriage only when it was too late.” 

Marianne’s hands fell in her lap. 

“ This is a romance ! Impossible ! Those things 
never happened in real life ! 

“It did happen, however,” observed V^ra. 

“ How he must have loved her ! Ah I how hard it 
was ! ” 

“ What was hard ? ” 

Marianne shook her head, but did not answer. 

“ You are not going to amuse yourself by fascinating 
this poor widower?” asked V4ra. 

“Why not?” 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


191 


“ The young enthusiast pronounced these words with 
so much energy that they opened hostilities. 

“ And why not ? ” she repeated. “ This widower has 
never had a wife, has only known the bitter part of 
life; would it not be a noble task to teach him the 
sweets ? ” 

“ What ? would you marry him ? ” 

“ Certainly ! ” said Marianne, proudly, brimming over 
with charity, and perhaps a little coquetry. 

V^ra was silent, and looked thoughtfully on the 
floor, then finally said: 

“ Your parents will never consent.” 

Marianne shrugged her shoulders. 

“ The example of the first of Mademoiselle Kar- 

zof, would be in my favor,” she replied softly. 

“But if he does not consent? If the remembrance 
of his jiancSe is stronger than you ? ” 

The Minister’s daughter shrugged her shoulders a 
second time, and looked at herself in the psyche glass, 
where she saw her lovely face reflected with its con- 
fident smile. 

“Bah!” said V^ra, rising from her chair; “in two 
days you will think no more of this nonsense.” 

“ Listen to me,” said Marianne. “ In six weeks he 
will be in love with me.” 

“ What an idea ! It is impossible ! Mademoiselle 
Karzof was no ordinary girl; in fact — with all due 
deference, be it said — exactly your opposite. How 
can you think ” 


192 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


This contradiction exasperated Marianne to the high- 
est degree. She answered petulantly : 

“ In six months, I intend to become Madame Dour- 
nof.” 

V era laughed. 

“Yes, in six months,” said she; “at the same time 
that I marry old General Bonne.” 

This General Bonne, whose name was Autropof, was 
an incorrigible old bachelor, who had lost one arm and 
one ear by a bullet at Sebastopol, and was a sort of 
scarecrow for all the children between five and seven 
years of age, in St. Petersburg. 

This solemn declaration from Marianne, made both 
girls laugh heartily, and the piano had a rest that day. 

Business often called Dournof to the Minister’s, who 
had taken a great fancy to him. Kind-hearted Mad- 
ame Mdrof, having heard his sad story, always received 
him cordially; in fact, he was more warmly welcomed 
at the Minister’s than at any other house. He went 
there often, and one evening found himself in the midst 
of a merry society of young people, invited to a party 
between Christmas and New Years. 

Madame M^rof had collected all the superstitions of 
her youth, and with the aid of her old German house- 
keeper had arranged innumerable games by which 
fortunes could be told. Nothing was wanting. Hot 
lead, roasting nuts, a large alphabet hung against the 
wall where the loved ones’ initials were to be pointed 
out with a cane — first, however, be it understood, 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


193 


the eyes were blinded — red and yellow apples whose 
parings, thrown over the left shoulder formed letters ; 
these and a thousand other amusements were offered to 
the young guests. 

Every one appeared at an early hour, for many a 
timid lover waited before speaking openly, to see if 
Fate would not indicate to him that he would receive 
a favorable reply. It is so easy, too, to give Destiny a 
helping hand; a corner of the bandage can be lifted, 
a nut pushed into the fire or the curve of an indistinct 
letter made by the apple paring slightly changed. 

Fortune is very indulgent to youth. 

They began by dancing quadrilles, but dancing was 
not the great attraction of the evening, and lacked 
spirit ; it was evident that they impatiently awaited the 
time to test their fortunes. 

At eleven o’clock, under the supervision of Madame 
Merof, a large silver basin about a metre in diameter, 
fiUed with water, was brought in ; a basket accompanied 
it full of gilded walnut -shells. Half of these shells 
held small pink candles, the other half were blue ; the 
first representing the girls and the others the young 
men. 

Each one chose a shell, then wrote his name on a 
piece of paper, rolled it up and placed it under the 
candles, which were then lighted. They then launched 
the little crafts in the basin ; Madame M4rof, with a 
long ivory wand, stirred the water around three times, 
and the frail barks danced on the troubled waves. 

12 


194 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


It was a curious sight to see aU these young heads 
bending over the basin ; a dozen girls, and as many 
men. Madame M^rof, being a prudent mother, was 
careful in selecting the company, for oftentimes there 
were marriages brought about by these games, but they 
were considered quite harmless in Russia, and not 
dangerous when properly managed. 

The heads of blondes and brunes, lighted from below 
by the miniature wax candles, anxiously followed the 
slightest movement of the gilded nutshells. Each one 
watched his own after the grand embarkation, to see if 
it met friend or foe. Whenever a blue candle upset a 
red, then there were bursts of laughter, shouts of joy. 
Madame M^rof had added to this flotilla, which repre- 
sented the guestg, another fleet of nutshells, bearing 
the names of heroes and heroines in history and legend, 
so that too pointed allusions might be avoided. There 
was more fun when two of the same color met ; but, 
after a few moments, Marianne declared this was not 
serious enough, so she fished out the fictitious charac- 
ters, leaving only those representing her friends. 

Several times chance seemed to confirm certain 
rumors that had been afloat during the winter. The 
bark of a young ensign floated directly towards Mari- 
anne’s young cousin, so that both blushed consciously 
when they were teased by the merry crowd. 

Marianne’s little boat, up to this time, had floated on 
a little apart. As soon as one tipped over it was taken 
out, which left more room for those r^piaining to indulge 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


195 


their superstitions. When the basin was comparatively 
clear, the young girl leaned thoughtfully on the edge 
and attentively watched the movements of her shell. 

A great bark, bearing General Bonne’s flag, was 
floating slowly along until it came nearly upsetting 
Marianne’s, she looked up and caught Vera’s malicious 
eye, then plunged her pretty jeweled hand into the 
water to save her bark from such a fate, in so doing she 
very nearly ran into another which heretofore had 
taken no part in the fun. 

“Monsieur Dournof ! ” cried Vera’s mocking voice. 

“ That is not fair ! ” protested several youthful voices. 
“No cheating.” 

“ I won’t have General Bonne I ” said Marianne, 
poutingly, like a spoiled child, turning away from 
Dournof to conceal her blushes. 

Her reply disarmed the indignant young friends; 
then the basin was removed, and a new game started. 

Dournof took part in all these plays, good-naturedly, 
like an indulgent philosopher. Although he was young 
he had never had any youth. The pressing work of his 
best years gave him no time to acquire a taste for the 
world ; although he did formerly like society, for it was 
there that he met Antonine ! He was fond of dancing, 
he liked gymnastics, and also swimming ; but since Anto- 
nine slept in the cemetery of Pargoloro, he had shunned 
ladies’ society, as he had sought that of older and more 
intelligent men, from whom he might learn something. 

The society which he frequented before was entirely 


196 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


different from this, there was none of this extravagant 
display which makes the rich man’s home a sort of 
museum ; the toilettes were a matter of surprise to him, 
for, in spite of Antonine’s exquisite taste, her dress was 
very inexpensive, because of her mother’s stinginess. 
It was not that so much silk and velvet were worn 
here, but there was a certain cut and combination of 
colors which showed the dressmaker understood her 
art, and made them pay for it too. 

He had never seen satin and laces treated with such 
contempt, and could tell a parvenue from a lady born, 
amid folds of Valenciennes, by the way she managed 
her lace flounces. The parvenue’s lace might be hand- 
somer, but she was conscious of it, whereas the lady 
never concerned herself about hers. There are in the 
world infinite degrees and shades which one can feel 
rather than describe. 

Dournof felt this, and began, by degrees, to be 
affected by it, and to find a certain charm in luxury 
and high station. 

The earnestness which Marianne showed in avoiding 
General Bonne’s bark made Dournof smile, as it did 
every one else. What was all this childishness to him ! 
The seven and twenty years of the young President 
made him look down upon all these trifles ! However, 
chance having several times united his destiny with 
Marianne’s, finally he was amused at it. 

Witchcraft has some cheating about it, particularly 
when a friendly hand assists, and that hand was Vera’s. 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


197 


Whether it was a jest or merely a feminine instinct, 
born of that passion for match-making — dear to a 
woman’s heart — she never lost an opportunity of bring- 
ing Marianne’s and Dournof’s fortunes together. 

Mademoiselle Merof was very much excited when 
the time came to test her fortune ; and finally, to finish 
the evening, she started a game of cards, where a num- 
ber of surnames were written and distributed among 
the guests. This was very amusing, for the names of 
both sexes were given out promiscuously. 

When it came to Dournof, she changed his card, and 
in so doing let one fall. Dournof stooped to pick it 
up 

“ No, no,” she said, “ here is one.” 

He took it, and read aloud : 

“ Marianne.” 

“ The one that fell on the floor belongs to Monsieur 
Dournof,” observed one of the spectators. 

Somebody picked it up, and handed it to him. 

“ Antonine,” he read aloud. 

Dournof turned pale, and showed how deep his feel- 
ings were, and Marianne understood it all. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” she said in a low tone, “ I 
did not know her name, I do assure you.” 

Before he could recover his self-possession Marianne 
had passed on to the next, with some jesting remark. 
Finally the circle was broken up, a mazurka was pro- 
posed, and the graceful figures glided around the room. 

Dournof did not dance ; so he took refuge in a dark 


198 


TELLING FOKTUNES. 


corner of the room, shaded his eyes with his hand, and 
thought of the little Cemetery, of the flowers that the 
winter winds must have frozen stiff long ago ; of how 
he had neglected that simple tomb at Pargoloro since 
his new fortune. A shadow passed before him, and 
stopped. 

He looked up. 

“ I have been very unfortunate, sir,” said Marianne, 
“ you will hate me.” 

Monsieur Dournof did not hate her ; he admired 
above everything that natural grace, the girlish candor 
of this beautiful child — more like a butterfly or a 
flower — charming and fascinating. 

“ However,” she added, sitting down near him, while 
her mother thought she was looking after the supper, 
“ I assure you that your sorrow touches me deeply. I 
have been very curious, yes, and much to blame, per- 
haps, because I have desired to know all about your 
sorrow; I have heard that she was worthy of your 
love ; I have heard of her beauty and grace ; I can 
understand how deep, almost unbearable your grief 
must have been ; and yet you are young, life is full of 
hope for you, you have many friends to love you. Do 
you think it well to live apart from all these joys ? — 
perhaps you have made a vow to the beloved dead ? ” 

Marianne’s voice was so full of tenderness, her 
expression showed so much compassion, that Dournof 
replied : 

“No, she forbade nothing.” 


TELLING FORTUNES. 


199 


“ Did she permit you to love, and to marry ? ” 

“ She begged me to do so.” 

Silence followed, then Marianne’s musical voice, as 
soft as a zephyr, murmured : 

“ Your wife will be a happy woman, for you know 
how to love.” 

She disappeared, leaving the young man struggling 
with an emotion unfelt for years. 


« 


200 antonine’s foresight 


CHAPTER XXL 
antonine’s foresight. 

OVE is contagious,” so it is said. A loving 



1j heart has a sort of magnetism, which it is diffi- 
cult to resist, unless there is something to counteract 
it. Dournof was no longer guarded. Antonine’s spirit 
had ceased to watch over him, and gradually Marianne 
took her place in his heart. 

This was not a serious, deep love, like the first ; it 
was more an infatuation which took possession of him, 
little by little. Marianne’s voice, her dress, her blonde 
hair floating in capricious ringlets, the touch of her 
delicate hands, her magnetic glances, submissive, and 
faithful like that of a pointer — all this, turned 
Dournof’s head. 

When he returned from the Minister’s, he sat in his 
arm-chair meditating, before a large portrait of Anto- 
nine. Heretofore, he had looked to this picture for 
courage, and strength, but now, he rather avoided it. 
While he was longing for moral courage, Marianne 
was administering to him the same poison that Hannibal 
took at Capone. 

Niania had become more serious, and graver than 
ever, for she had noticed a change in her mastei; ; she 
waited upon him as usual that evening, giving a last 


ANTONIT^E S FORESIGHT. 


201 


survey of things, as she did in Antonine’s time, for the 
old woman had lost nothing of her assiduity, but she 
had grown sadder of late. 

One evening, when Dournof returned earlier than 
usual, she ventured to speak to him. 

“ The Minister has a daughter, has he not ? ” she 
said, bringing him his dressing-gown. 

“Yes,” replied the young man, avoiding the old 
woman’s glance. 

“ They say she is very pretty ? ” . 

“ That is true.” 

Niania shook her head. 

“ Excuse me if I am lacking in respect, sir, but they 
tell me she loves you.” 

Dournof’s heart beat quickly. They said she loved 
him — was it true then? How sweet to be loved by 
that goddess ! ” 

“ I do not know,” replied the young man somewhat 
embarrassed. 

“ If she loves you, and she is a good girl, you should 
marry her ” 

Niania wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. 
Dournof looked at her, without saying a word. 

“You should marry her,” continued the old servant, 
“ for a man must not always remain single. She is the 
daughter of a Minister, and will make a good wife. 
Our Antonine bade you marry.” 

Dournof looked at Antonine’s portrait. Had it not 
been for Niania’s pious care, a veil of dust would have 


202 


antonine’s foresight. 


screened it from view ; the goodness of the dead girl, 
her self-denial, her virtues, her unselfish devotion, — all 
came to his mind. 

“ Forgive me ! oh, forgive me ! ” he cried as he drew 
the neglected picture near him. “ You are an angel ! ” 

He burst into tears, and passionately kissed the 
hands of that portrait which seemed to look down upon 
him with that same calmness and dignity, which placed 
the living Antonine so far above all other women. 

Niania wept also, but not with that gush of peni- 
tence which pierced Dournof’s heart. 

, “ Yes,” she answered, putting her hand on the young 
man’s shoulder, “she was an angel, hut she is in 
Heaven, for God has certainly pardoned her for want- 
ing to die. You are a man, and you have already 
lived too long alone.” 

Dournof lifted his head, looked at Niania, and said : 

“ Then do you believe she will pardon me ? ” 

The deep-set eye of that old woman who had suffered 
so much, and knew so much of life penetrated the very 
depths of the young man’s thoughts. 

“For loving another as you did her? It is impossi- 
ble ! ” she said. 

Dournof felt she was right, and that he could never 
love another as he had loved Antonine. 

— “ But to love a good woman, and to have children ! 
She told me to tell you in her name when the time 
came. We have mourned together, master,” continued 
Niania, lowering her voice ; “ I love you, because she 


antonine’s foresight. 


203 


loved you, and I love you as if you were my own 
child, but I did not before. When she was dying she 
told me I must serve you, and protect you from evil 
spirits. She said I must be submissive to your wife, 
and rear your children. I will obey, master, I will 
obey ! ” and the old woman’s voice broke down com- 
pletely. “I will be an obedient servant, but do not 
let your wife drive me away, for I love you now for 
the love she bore you, and you are all that remains to 
me of her.” 

The old servant said no more, and hid her wrinkled 
face in her apron. Dournof pressed her hand, and she 
felt then she would never be driven away. 

“ Then she said,” he asked in a low tone, “ that I 
must marry ? ” 

“ It was the night before her death ; she called me 
to her side and gave me this paper for you.” 

“ A paper ? ” 

“ Yes, to give you when you thought of marrying ! ” 

“ Go and bring it ; quick, quick ! ” 

She obeyed, and brought the piece of yellow paper, 
folded and sealed. 

Dournof opened it with a trembling hand, and read 
Antonine’s last words : 

“ My dearly beloved, when you have found a woman 
you can love, do not allow my memory to be a barrier 
between you. I will be happy to know you are happy, 
and my blessing will rest upon your wife, and upon 
you.” 


204 • 


antonine’s foresight. 


“ Slie was better than I ! ” exclaimed the young man, 
overcome by this generosity. He kissed the sacred 
letters traced by a hand weakened by the approach of 
death. She was a thousand times better than I ! Dear 
Saint ! you did well to die, for no living man is worthy 
of you ! ” 

Mania was discreet enough to leave Dournof alpne ; 
and that night he dreamed more of Antonine than of 
Marianne. 


ONE living! — ANOTHER DEAd! 205 


CHAPTER XXII. 

ONE living! — ANOTHER DEAd! 

M arianne very soon was in the ascendant again, 
for Antonine’s charms were sleeping under the 
block of granite, whereas Marianne’s were ever devel- 
oping and increasing. 

Her light and frivolous nature had many redeeming 
traits, and it was compassion that won Dournof ; she 
loved him sincerely and truly, and could love none 
other. 

Prompted by this deep feeling, she went one day to 
the Minister’s study. 

“Papa,” said she, pushing aside a pile of papers, 
“who stands first among our young presidents?” 

“ What do you mean by the first ? ” asked the aston- 
ished father. 

“ Yes, the most intelligent, the one who is the most 
promising, who will take your place if you should 
become wearied with it ? ” 

Surprised at this foresight, the good father reflected 
a moment. 

“ I believe,” he said, “ if appearances are not decep- 
tive, and circumstances do not change, that Dournof 
will be my successor.” 

“Well, papa,” said Marianne, triumphantly, “I want 
to marry Dournof.” 


206 ONE living! — another dead! 

The Minister turned half round in his chair, and 
looked at his daughter in astonishment. 

“You? Dournof? Why, what is this new fancy of 
yours ? ” 

“I will marry Dournof, or die from grief. Do as 
you please about it I ” 

Quite upset by this assertion, Monsieur M^rof led 
his daughter to her mother, who did not appear as much 
surprised at this declaration as himself. 

“ It does not astonish me,” she said, “ I always knew 
Marianne would marry differently from other girls.” 

“ But after all,” exclaimed Monsieur Merof, “ Dour- 
nof is only a President.” 

“ Yes, papa, but you told me he would be Minister in 
time I then I would not have to leave this house I ” 

“ But this is nonsense ! ” said Monsieur M^rof, in 
absolute exasperation. 

“ As you like, papa,” replied the incorrigible Mari- 
anne, bowing her head in feigned resignation. 
“ Mademoiselle Karzof’s parents were the cause of her 
death, my fate will be the same.” 

“Who is this Mademoiselle Karzof?” asked Mon- 
sieur M^rof,” more enraged than ever. 

With great eloquence, and many embellishments, 
Marianne related the histor}^ of Antonine. 

“Well,” she continued, “it will be Dournof s fate 
never to marry the woman he loves, they will all die 
because of their parents’ cruelty.” 

“Does he love you?” asked the father, unable to 
reason against such absurd logic. 


ONE living! — ANOTHER dead! 207 


“ Does he love me ? ” echoed she, and the cheeks of 
the young coquette flushed with joyous pride. 

“Love me?” she repeated, “ask him, papa, and see 
what he will answer.” 

“ Then you wish me to offer him your hand ! ” asked 
the Minister, ironically. 

Marianne assented with a low courtesy. 

“ If you please, my dear papa. You know he would 
not dare make the first advances, and it will not be 
at all derogatory to us, for marriages of princesses are 
negotiated thus when they marry simple mortals.” 

The mother and father exchanged looks over the 
head of this spirited child, and could not repress their 
smiles. 

“ See here, papa, be very nice now I Let me marry 
Dournof and I will love you so much I I have not 
asked mamma, because she never opposes me, and she 
would never have threatened to let me die from grief.” 

“Did I ever threaten to let you die?” asked Mon- 
sieur Mdrof, angered beyond control. 

“ Certainly, since you will not consent to my marry- 
ing Dournof.” 

There was no getting out of this ; and the Minister, 
with great difficulty, obtained his daughter’s consent to 
wait eight days, that he might procure information. 

The information did not enlighten Monsieur M^rof 
in any degree, because he knew perfectly well the in- 
tellectual and moral worth of the young man whose 
position he had himself made. Eight days later Dournof 


208 ONE living! — another dead! 


was invited to the Minister’s private study, and went 
out of it the happy jiancS of Marianne. 

This result, which he never thought would have been 
80 brilliant and facile, astonished him a little. He 
thought the young girl had displayed great acuteness 
and cleverness to attain her end so quickly. What to 
him was most extraordinary was that she should have 
divined his love, and made so many advances without 
being assured of his consent. What if he did not want 
to marry her ? 

Dournof reproached himself for this evil thought, 
and looked upon this as the ingenuousness of a 
young heart, and another proof of true love, — nothing 
more. 

He went home infatuated and bewildered; and yet 
he would be able to give his wife a very high position, 
as he hoped to be Minister, and when the first vacancy 
occurred would be his father-in-law’s assistant. What 
a future ! 

“ I am going to marry,” he said to Niania, who, faith- 
ful in her attentions, had followed him to liis bedroom 
as soon as he came in. 

The humble servant looked at him, crossed herself, 
and murmured a prayer, and then prostrated herself 
before her master, and kissed his feet, according to the 
ancient custom. 

“I congratulate you, master,” said she. “I hope 
you may be happy with your wife, and that your pos- 
terity may be blessed ! ” 


ONE living! — ANOTHEE DEAd! 209 


She was silent and gazed vaguely out of the window, 
while the bright sun of an early spring shone upon the 
dripping roofs. 

“The snow must have melted, down there,” said 
Niania, hesitatingly; “it is a long time since she had 
any flowers.” 

“You are right!” exclaimed Dournof, seizing his 
hat. “ I am going there immediately.” 

He stopped. What would he say to that tomb, 
which had heretofore been the confldant of all his 
thoughts ? 

Could he confide to that chaste granite, these feelings 
which caused his cheek to pale and his heart to beat 
when Marianne placed her hands in his? 

“ I am going to thank her,” said he aloud ; “ thank 
her for the blessing that she sends down from Heaven 
upon me.” 

He had the carriage filled with flowers, just as it was 
some months before — when he first met Marianne — 
and could not refrain from making a comparison of the 
two days. 

“It was Antonine who sent her across my path- 
way,” he said to himself. “It is her wish that has 
been fulfilled. God bless our Antonine ! ” 

Antonine was now as cold and far off as the marble 
statues on the tombs ; she was a saint watching over 
him, to whom he offered his prayers, but no longer 
the friend and the confidant of every thought. 

He remembered, while they were arranging the 

13 


210 ONE living! — ANOTHER DEAd! 


flowers, that Marianne also must have a bouquet that 
day, so he ordered two alike ; after comparing them a 
moment, he ended by attaching his card to the hand- 
somer and sending it to fiancee. 

This act cost him some remorse, as he thought of it 
during his long drive. 

‘‘ Pshaw I ” he said, at last coming near the Cemetery. 
“ What difference can it make to Antonine ? ” 

He carried his offering to the iron cross, reaching it 
with difficulty through the half-melted snow. Arriving 
at the top of the hill, he tied the bouquet with a ribbon 
to the arm of the cross, then leaned on the tomb to rest 
himself. 

The stone was so cold that he shivered and withdrew 
his hand. For a moment he stood in deep thought. 
He wished to ask -her to share his joy, but he felt he 
could not speak to Marianne of Antonine. It flashed 
across his mind like lightning, and as quickly vanished 
— that Marianne was not the woman Antonine would 
have chosen for his wife, the woman who would assist 
him in making a fortune for himself. 

He sighed as he kissed the stone; it felt colder to 
his lips than to his hand ; then he quickly passed his 
handkerchief over them as if to warm them. 

Then, light-hearted, like a man relieved of a bur- 
den, he jumped into the carriage, whipped up the 
horses, and all along the road Marianne’s golden curls 
floated before him like Will-o-the-wisps. 


THE WEDDING. 


211 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE WEDDING. 

D OURNOF was invited to dine socially with the 
family that evening. When he entered, Mari- 
anne met him, holding the bouquet of white flowers in 
her pretty, little plump hand, which Dournof kissed 
passionately. 

It was soft and warm — this small, white hand, and 
caused his blood — which had been chilled so recently 
by contact with Antonine’s tomb — to flow freely. 
Marianne read at a glance in Dournof ’s eyes, how much 
he loved her, and did not try to conceal her happiness. 
The evening passed pleasantly, and the parents congrat- 
ulated each other upon the characteristics of a statesman 
exhibited by their future son-in-law; and Dournof, for 
the first time, really enjoyed living. 

As for Marianne, she was gay and happy; she had 
gained her point, what more did she want? 

The marriage was appointed to take place as soon as 
possible ; only three weeks would separate them now. 
All the arrangements had been made. Dournof would 
keep the apartment so recently rented and furnished. 
Madame M^rof intended to fit up one room for the 
bride, and the young people would dine at the Minis- 
ter’s until Marianne should have some experience in 
housekeeping. 


212 


THE WEDDING. 


“If it is a housekeeper you are after, Dournof,” said 
Madame M^rof, “you have made a mistake, for Mari- 
anne knows nothing about it.” 

The young man looked lovingly upon his JlancSe^ and 
answered : 

“I do not need a housekeeper. I have one who is 
excellent.” 

“Really? Who is it?” asked mother and daughter 
in one voice. 

“ Old Niania.” 

“Your nurse?” 

Dournof felt a little embarrassed. Few men marry 
their first love, and yet, when the time comes to take a 
wife, it is embarrassing to allude to the past ; so it was 
with some hesitancy Dournof decided to unveil the 
secrets of his heart. 

“This is a faithful servant of a family I formerly 
knew intimately. She came to me in my days of 
poverty, for I have known poverty,” he said, as he 
turned towards Marianne and smiled. 

She opened her eyes wide, for this word poverty was 
to her, like a tiresome page in a romance ; it was the 
traditional bed where the poor woman lies, or the cold 
stone on which the little Savoyard shivers. Poverty, 
the most real she had ever known, she found in the 
commencement of the Allumeur de r^verhkre%P These 
words of Dournof ’s seemed to her, therefore, utterly 
meaningless ; for a man wearing a white vest like his, 
and who was to be her husband, never could have 


THE WEDDING. 


213 


known poverty. She smiled because he did, but said 
nothing. 

“How did she come to live with you?” asked 
Madame Merof, desirous to know more of a person 
who was to be her daughter’s housekeeper. 

Dournof hesitated, but his honest heart hated decep- 
tion, so he decided to speak frankly ; taking Marianne’s 
hand in his, he replied ; 

“ This Niania, was the Niania of Mademoiselle Kar- 
zof, of whom you have heard me speak.” 

Marianne’s hand trembled, but he still held it in a 
firm grasp. 

“ She watched over her young mistress with untiring 
devotion, and when we laid her in the tomb, she left 
her old employers, because they did not make it agree- 
able for her, and came to me, and has served me faith- 
fully during the most trying years of my life, when I 
was nothing, and nobody — you would not have deigned 
to notice me in the streets, I was so badly dressed.” 

He looked up at Marianne, who replied by shrugging 
her shoulders, as much as to say, “ I would have looked 
at you under any circumstances, since you are to be 
my husband.” 

“But,” insisted Madame Mdrof, “do you think this 
woman will be kindly disposed to a new mistress? I 
can understand your attachment for her, it does you 
honor, after such devotion to Mademoiselle Karzof — ” 

“It was she who suggested my marrying,” replied 
Dournof. “She saw me sad, and dejected, — ” he 


214 


THE WEDDING. 


looked at Marianne, who guessed the subject of his 
reveries, — “ and she entirely relieved my mind when, 
she placed in my hands a note written by her young 
mistress shortly before her death, advising me to marry 
when I met the woman I could love.” 

Another look assured Marianne that she was that 
woman. 

Madame M^rof, delighted that circumstances had 
placed a devoted, faithful person at the head of her 
daughter’s house, congratulated Dournof upon his great 
good luck. 

“ It was fortunate for me,” replied the young man, 
“ as Fortune seemed to frown upon me for so long a 
time.” 

reparations were soon finished and the evening 
before the wedding arrived. 

That night, before retiring, 'Dournof took a candle, 
and went around the apartment where he was alone 
for the last time; inspecting each piece of furniture, 
curtain and picture, and thought of the joy Marianne’s 
presence would lend to everything. 

Entering his study he looked at Antonine’s picture 
which always remained on his desk. For a long time 
this beautiful face had been concealed by a paper, or 
a letter carelessly thrown before the frame. It had 
been eight days since he had looked at the portrait. 

He reproached himself for this negligence, and tried 
to concentrate his thoughts upon the young girl, but 
the effort was too painful. 


THE WEDDING. 215 

“I cannot leave this portrait here,” he thought, 
“ Marianne would be shocked.” 

After hesitating a moment, he took the ebony frame, 
wiped it, put it on the secretary, the face turned to the 
wall, intending to hang it up later — as he had not the 
keys with him — left it for the following day, and 
passed into his bed-room. 

There he found Marianne’s picture in evening dress 
crowned with flowers, smiling upon him in a gilt 
frame on a table near his bed. He took it and pressed 
a kiss upon the beautiful image. 

“ To-morrow she will be my wife,” he said joyfully. 

Scarcely had he retired, when he heard a slight noise 
in the adjoining room. He called, and having no 
response, concluded he was mistaken. However, the 
next day when he looked for Antonine’s picture he 
could not find it, and intended asking Niania, but the 
day was so short, and he so occupied, that he forgot it. 

The memorable evening came; the marriage w^as 
splendid; after the wedding, Dournof took his young 
bride home beaming with joy and beauty. The apart- 
ment was gorgeously lighted, flowers everywhere, and 
Dournof scarcely believed his eyes when he saw Mari- 
anne’s white silk skirt trimmed with orange flowers 
floating over his study carpet. 

Niania, always stiff and sad, left off her mourning 
upon this occasion. She made a low curtsy before 
her new mistress. Marianne patted the old woman 
familiarly on the shoulder, and complimented her. 


216 


THE WEDDING. 


When the domestics had paid their respects, Dournof 
showed his wife into their private apartment. 

After the folding doors of the nuptial chamber were 
closed, Niania looked for some time at the dark, heavy 
curtains which vailed it — bowed her head in resigna- 
tion — brought out Antonine’s portrait from behind 
some old pictures, and placed it on the desk. 

“Pardon! pardon!” she said, “angel in Heaven, 
pardon! When he is unhappy, it is to you he will 
return ! Forgive a weak man, who has been bewitched 
by a woman ! ” 

She kissed the portrait, returned it to the hiding- 
place, blew out the lights, and went to bed. 


THE YOUNG MOTHER. 


217 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE YOUNG MOTHER. 

O NE year after Dournof’s marriage, on a rainy 
morning in the spring time, Niania heard some 
one call her. It was her master’s voice, louder and 
more agitated than usual. 

She arose from the chest that served as a seat in the 
great anteroom, called the servants’ chamber, which 
opens into the room of the mistress of every Russian 
home, and there she saw her master, who said to her ; 
“Quick! Come quickly!” 

They both entered Marianne’s room, when Dournof 
almost fell back when he saw the doctor hold up a new 
born babe. 

“A girl?” asked the father in a trembling voice, 
without daring to approach. 

“A boy, a real Dournof, the image of you ! ” said the 
doctor joyfully, “ come and see ! ” 

— But Niania had the baby in her apron, and was 
already bending over him, murmuring a blessing upon 
her master’s son. 

Dournof soon joined the group, and silently gazed 
upon that little being which was his own. What 
thoughts passed through his mind when he first heard 


218 


THE YOUNG MOTHER* 


the wail of that new-comer to this vale of tears ! Did 
the young father think of the beautiful childish mother, 
or, of her who should have been the mother of his 
cliildren? What he thought, Niania understood, and 
listened attentively, when he said : 

“ Love him, Niania ! love him, for he is the dearest 
thing on earth to me. ” 

“N^ver fear, master,” replied Niania, “He is a 
Dournof.” 

“Alas! yes — Marianne was no longer the dearest 
thing on earth to Dournof, he already loved this baby, 
which had only breathed a quarter of an hour, more 
than the young wife he had brought to his fireside a 
year ago. It was not that a paternal feeling had 
developed in his heart with such wonderful intensity, 
but that Marianne was not everything to him; she 
was only sweet, and frivolous — a flower, which one 
smells, then forgets for other things more important 
and interesting. 

Soon after his marriage, after the first days of infat- 
uation, Dournof felt an irrepressible melancholy when- 
ever he was near his wife. Marianne was still the same 
charming, fascinating woman he had loved so ardently, 
but she was not a wife to whom a man could confide his 
cares and troubles, or ask advice in moments of doubt. 
Marianne was not an Antonine, and hereafter, Dournof 
would have to turn to the memory of his first love, 
whenever he was sad and weary. 

Marianne loved him though, and he loved Marianne, 


THE YOUNG MOTHER. 


219 


but mingled with this joy was a sort of bitterness, to 
think his wife was so inferior to him, so different from 
what he expected. 

He pitied her for having been educated in that light, 
frivolous school, where the serious side of life is 
ignored, and worldliness is made predominant. He 
still looked upon his wife as amiable but irresponsible, 
created for the smiles of the world, so he tried to 
satiate her with theatres and fetes^ hoping she would 
tire of them, and that the cares of maternity would 
give her more dignity. 

One hour after this solemn moment, and still leaning 
on the foot of the bed, Dournof watched Marianne 
sleeping peacefully under the half-drawn curtain. The 
baby had been carried away to the next room, and the 
young mother was sleeping quietly. Dournof studied 
that lovely face, somewhat thinner, but still fresh and 
youthful. 

“ What kind of a mother will she make ? ” he asked 
himself, his heart filling with a thousand fears. “ Will 
she devote herself to the child, or abandon it to strange 
hands ? ” 

The question of nursing had not been thoroughly 
decided; a robust countrywoman was waiting in the 
kitchen, for the decision — whether the new mother 
would or could bear the fatigues of these maternal 
duties ? When the question had been asked, she had 
always responded : 

“We will see when the time comes.’’ 


220 


THE YOUNG MOTHEK. 


Dournof felt that she would not consent, and a 
painful fear took possession of him. 

“Shall I love her as much, if she refuses to nurse 
the child?” 

Somewhat dejected and discouraged, he tried to 
drive away this thought, hut he was sure of loving her 
less if she evaded this duty, as she had done many 
others. In order to divert his mind he went to look at 
his son again. 

He found the child in a large, well-lighted room, 
which had been selected for the nursery. Everything 
looked comfortable and neat; the atmosphere seemed 
calm and peaceful ; the cradle, draped with blue silk, 
was placed in a corner, well protected from the sun and 
draughts. Sitting on a low stool was the wet nurse, 
waiting until something should be decided. 

Niania came up to her master, and asked with that 
tranquillity natural to her : 

“ Is all going well, master? ” 

Dournof glanced around the room, saw that every- 
thing was right, and with a contented air walked up to 
the cradle. There slept his son — he who would trans- 
mit his name to future generations — born amid silks 
and satins, while his father first saw the light in poverty. 
Now, the son seemed destined to be greater than the 
father. The heir to so much dignity, slept his first 
sleep on earth, but his little, round, red face indicated 
no particular ambitions or brilliant future. Dournof 
closed the curtains gently and went into his study. 


THE YOUNG MOTHER. 


221 


Before Ms marriage, in seeking to find a spot where 
his wife might read or work and still he near him, he 
had removed several pieces of furniture, to make room 
for a small sofa, a table and lamp, made expressly after 
his own ideas; the carpet which covered this little 
Eden was softer and thicker than any other in the 
house ; but alas ! it had not lost its freshness, and the 
lamp had never yet been lighted. The books had 
disappeared, and been carried into Marianne’s boudoir, 
which was bright and gay. Dournof, renouncing the 
hope of having his wife near him in his hours of labor, 
resumed his solitary work, while Marianne, always out 
or dressing, continued the same gay life of a wealthy 
girl, with all the liberty marriage gives a woman. 

All these souvenirs came up before Dournof, and in 
order to forget such tormenting thoughts, he went out 
for a walk ; on his return, he found the house full of 
relations, come to offer their congratulations. 

The next day, that important question came up 
again. Marianne could nurse the baby, the doctor 
announced triumphantly. Madame Merof, always pru- 
dent and discreet, looked on in silence. Niania, stand- 
ing near with the infant in her arms, awaited the 
decision, which she was already sure of. Dournof took 
his wife’s hand, kissed it tenderly — for Marianne was 
still dear to him, and what would he have given to have 
had one more proof of her love for him. 

“Well, dear Madame,” continued the doctor, “what 
do you decide ? ” 


222 


THE YOUNG MOTHER. 


Marianne glanced around at the numerous faces, 
then at her slumbering babe, who seemed entirely 
content. 

“ I will not nurse him,” she said. “ I have been ill 
all winter, and I fear I shall not be able to go through 
with it.” 

Dournof felt his courage fail him. Another fond 
hope blasted, although this last was but a faint one. 
He tried to feel satisfied, complimented his wife upon 
her wisdom, and saw his son handed over to the wet 
nurse and both banished to the nursery, where the 
father soon followed them. 

What were his feelings when he saw that hungry 
little creature press the breast of the nurse and drink 
the stream of life ? He sadly contemplated this scene. 
Uttering a deep sigh as he turned away, he found Nia- 
nia was also watching the child. 

“ May God’s will be done ! ” said she in a low tone. 
“ In His goodness, may He give a long life to this poor 
little innocent. But our Antonine ” 

A severe look from Dournof cut short the sentence. 
The old woman humbly hung her head, but her master 
understood too well what she m^nt. 

“ No, Antonine would never have allowed her son to 
be nourished by a stranger ; she would never cede to 
another the pleasure derived from his first looks and 
caresses. She would have claimed with jealous tender- 
ness the eager pressure of those lips and fingers of the 
unconscious little creature who attaches himself to the 
one who feeds him.” 


THE TOTING MOTHEE. 


223 


Dournof left the nursery without looking back, and 
Niania respected his silence. The grandmother came 
in often to see her grandson, and found him surrounded 
by enthusiastic friends and aunts, but Mania listened 
neither to advice or suggestions. This child was hers, 
because Dournof had given it to her ! She was deaf to 
the words of everybody else as long as the father was 
satisfied. 


224 HE ASKED HIS WIFE’s OPINION. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HE ASKED HIS WIFE’S OPINION. 

M arianne, blooming as ever, soon resumed her 
worldly pleasures. She was frequently seen at 
the “ lies,” in an open caliche, often accompanied by 
her husband, sometimes her father or mother, often 
alone. A perfect bevy of young men grouped around 
the carriage just before sunset, which in that latitude 
and in summer is quite late. 

Many persons came on foot, on horseback, or in car- 
riages, to enjoy the beautiful view of the river N^va, 
from the extreme point of the Isle of Yelaguine. The 
sun set at half- past nine over the Gulf of Finland, 
illuminating with its last rays the fresh verdure on the 
banks of the river, which meandered in and out among 
the islands dotted with handsome villas. This prome- 
nade was every evening like Longchamps during the 
season. 

It was there that Marianne, after several weeks of 
repose, resumed the gay life she preferred to all others. 
She was always delighted when her husband accompa- 
nied her, for the novelty of being the wife of President 
Dournof had not yet worn off. Her husband had very 
little leisure to follow her into the fashionable set of 
which she was the centre. She was never so handsome 


HE ASKED HIS WIFe’s OPINION. 225 

) 

and brilliant as at this time, and her heart filled with 
pride when she returned the smiles that were wasted 
upon Dournof ; but when he was not there she did not 
make herself miserable, on the contrary, she laughed and 
chatted with the young men as they leaned upon her 
carriage door, flattering the young wife and teaching 
her to love this admiration and coquetry, so dangerous 
to her now. 

“What was the harm in it? was she not the most 
devoted of wives ? — did she not love her husband as 
much as on the day of their marriage ? Was she not a 
devoted mother ? Morning and evening — often during 
the day, she would go and see little Serge, kiss him, 
make him coo and chirp, as only mothers and nurses 
can, and leaving the nursery, left also behind her a 
strong perfume of wild violets. 

It would be a very bad tongue that would say Mari- 
anne was not the most irreproachable wife in the 
world. 

Madame Merof was not contented with all this. 
She was too wise and experienced, however, to draw 
her son-in-law’s attention to a dissipation which may 
have passed unnoticed by him; still she often tried 
to keep her daughter at home, by coming to dinner, 
or supper, if for nothing else, to save Dournof the 
painful sight of bare walls, and a deserted dining- 
room. Marianne preferred passing the evening any- 
where rather than at home, and no one could prevent 
her doing so. 


14 


226 HE ASKED HIS WIFE’s OPINION. 


The Session which would soon close, and permit the 
gentlemen to leave town, wound up, with a most 
important case. It was so singularly presented, that 
Dournof was sorely perplexed, and could not form an 
opinion for the accused; evidences were against the 
man, and yet, his past life, his honest face, and noble 
bearing, contradicted the numerous accusations. Pub- 
lic opinion was in his favor, but his accomplices brought 
such heavy charges against him, the state could hardly 
uphold him in his crime. 

For eight days past, the whole city was talking about 
this case. One evening, for a great wonder, Marianne 
remained at home, working on her piece of embroidery, 
which was never brought out except on rainy days. 
Dournof, who was very thoughtful, looked at his wife, 
studying her fresh, young face earnestly. The bloom 
of youth was still upon those rosy cheeks, and swan- 
like throat. Her expression was so innocent and pure, 
that it seemed as if her conscience must be free from 
fear and doubt ; so Dournof decided to consult her. 

“ Marianne,” said he, “ you have heard that affair of 
Sintsof spoken of?” 

“ Oh, Heavens I yes, they have been dinging it in my 
ears for a long time ! ” replied the young wife, thread- 
ing her needle with pink wool. 

“ What do you think about it ? ” 

Marianne looked up perfectly astonished. 

“I? I don’t think anything about it,” she said 
quietly. 


HE A!^ED HIS WIFe’s OPINION. 227 


“ Try to think of it then,” replied Dournof gently. 
“ You know the points of the case, of course ?/’ 

Marianne assented. 

“Well, do you consider Sintsof guilty?” 

The young woman smiled and shrugged her 
shoulders. 

“I know nothing about it,” she said, counting her 
stitches. 

“ Marianne,” insisted Dournof, “ I beg you will 
answer me seriously; you know my word will have 
great weight in the issue of the suit. Suppose I con- 
demn an innocent man ? ” 

“Would that annoy you?” said Marianne laugh- 
ingly. “ Suppose you toss up and see — if it is tails, 
your man is guilty — if heads, he is innocent, or vice 
versa if you please. I understand that is the way 
grave questions are decided now-a-days.” 

“ My dear wife ! I pray you will not joke in this 
manner,” answered Dournof, more disturbed than he 
was willing she should see; “you don’t know how 
badly it makes me feel to hear you speak so lightly.” 

“ Ah I ” said Marianne poutingly, “ sermons again ? 
I did not ask you to talk to me on a subject I know 
nothing about. I am not a serious nature, therefore I 
do not want to hear about law suits, criminals, etc., it 
tries me.” 

Whereupon she folded up her work and left the 
room, much out of temper. 

Dournof watched the door of the boudoir close upon 
her. Must he follow her to make peace? Was he 


228 HE ASKED HIS WIFE’s OPINION. 


wrong to talk to her of these things? Or was she 
wrong not to understand them ? 

He rose, but stopped when he reached the door of 
Marianne’s room. 

“ Oh, Antonine ! ” he thought, “ where are you ? 
Will you not deign to look upon and speak to me ? ” 

He bowed his head as if to listen for advice from , 
some inward voice, and after a moment went into the 
room. 

“ Marianne,” he said, tenderly, “ you are right, I 
should not talk to you of things you know nothing 
about.” 

The young wife looked at him, with eyes full of tears. 

“ You are cruel,” she said, “ to scold me ! I am 
neither a J udge nor a President ; and is it my fault if 
all these serious discussions weary me ? ” 

Dournof kissed that little white hand, respectfully, 
but without feeling. 

“ Yes, you are cruel ! ” continued Marianne amid her 
tears, “ say at once that you will never do it again. 
No, never ! never ! ” 

“I promise you,” replied Dournof. 

Antonine would have divined with what bitterness 
he made that promise, but Marianne was satisfied, and 
her childish caresses diverted for a moment this man 
full of cares. As he returned to his study, he repeated, 
ironically ; ‘‘ No, I will never, never do it again ! ” 

Seated in an arm-chair, his head in his hands, he 
reflected a long time. The night was far spent ; Mari- 
anne had been sleeping for some time. Overwhelmed 


HE ASKED HIS WIFe’s OPINIOK. 229 

with painful doubts, Dournof rose. Antonine’s por- 
trait had remained in the drawer where Niania had put 
it, but he had found it; and often in his perplexity 
secretly contemplated it. After gazing some time at 
the picture, he hung it on the wall, near the lamp, 
which Marianne never lighted. 

“Take your old place once more,” he said; “my 
guardian angel, take that place which you never 
should have left I It is you who should illumine my 
life, my own forgotten love I But in Heaven there is 
no resentment ! ” 

He sunk down on the little sofa, his eyes fixed upon 
that loved image, which time and exposure had some- 
what faded. When his meditation was over, the sun- 
beams penetrated his study windows. 

“Thanks, my conscience,” he said. “If I deceive 
myself, it will be from the sincerity of my heart.” 

He dressed himself, re-read his brief, and at seven 
o’clock, was at the court-room waiting for judges and 
lawyers, that he might consult freely with them. 

Contrary to expectation, but in conformity with 
public opinion, Sintsof was acquitted ; the jury decided 
he was innocent. 

The Minister, when he met his son-in-law that very 
evening, said to him : 

“Do you know, Dournof, you played for high 
stakes ? ” 

Dournof smiled. A wager was of little importance 
to him ; money, and even life, were nothing in compar- 
ison to conscience. ^ 


230 HE ASKED HIS WIFe’s OPINION. 


“Are you sorry, your Excellency?” said lie to his 
father-in-law. 

“ I am proud of you, but ” 

“ That is all I want to know,” replied Dournof. 

Antonine’s portrait remained hanging on the wall. 

That morning, when Niania brought little Serge in, 
as was her custom, she noticed this change, stopped, 
and fixed her eyes upon that frame which enclosed so 
much. 

“ Master,” said she, finally, “ if your wife sees this, 
what will she say ? ” 

“ Bah ! ” replied Dournof ; “ she never comes here.” 

Mania’s look was full of pity, as she glanced from 
the young father to the child she held in her arms. 

Dournof stooped and tenderly kissed his sleeping 
infant. 

“ May he not resemble her I ” he said, thinking of 
Marianne. 

“We will teach him to love his aunt, in Heaven,” 
said Niania, divining her master’s secret thoughts. 

Dournof, without replying, made her a sign to leave 
him alone. 

At this moment, Marianne stood in the doorway, 
dressed for a promenade. 

“ Monsieur is at work,” said Mania in a low tone. 

“ Oh ! then I am going to run away ! ” said Marianne, 
pretending she was terrified. 

The door closed; Dournof, left alone, returned to 
kneel before the portrait, and shed bitter tears. 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


231 


CHAPTER XXVL 

HEARTLESSNESS. 

T W O years passed without bringing any changes to 
the Dournof household, except the birth of a 
daughter. The following winter, Madame M^rof took 
cold while acting as chaperon to Marianne to a 
masked ball, where Dournof would not consent to her 
going alone, and the good woman died, after great 
sufferings, repeating continually to her son-in-law : 

“ Be kind to Marianne.” 

Dournof promised solemnly to be good to Marianne, 
and kept his promise to the best of his ability. 

He was accustomed now to having this pretty little 
creature by his side; she filled the house with mil- 
linery, smiles, music, dancing, and gay, frivolous people 
like herself. He let her alone — why oppose her? — 
for he detested scenes, and feared above everything any 
disorder, pouting, or tears from Marianne — they com- 
pletely upset him. 

How could he reason with this child, who declared 
that common sense wearied her ? How moralize with 
a woman who had no object in life but her own pleas- 
ure ? With all this, Marianne was not bad ; she was 
charitable, lavish with her words of sympathy and 
tears of compassion ; but, as soon as the object of her 


232 


HEAKTLESSNESS. 


compassion was out of sight, she banished it from her 
mind to think of something more agreeable and 
cheerful. 

Marianne’s mourning compelled her to be quiet ; for 
eight long months she deprived herself of the pleasure 
of balls and theatres ; but as poor Madame M^rof died 
in the midst of the carnival, the winter season was in 
full blast before the year of mourning was over. 

Marianne had a box at the opera by the year, and 
resumed her accustomed place — first all in black, then 
Parma violets appeared in her beautiful blonde hair. 
At Christmas, on the pretext that she must do honor 
to the church festivals, all mourning was taken off, 
and white and pearl color were adopted. 

The carnival was later this year than the preceding, 
therefore Madame Dournof ’s mourning expired before 
the end of this brilliant season. A grand ball at the 
Austrian Embassy, to be given the last Saturday of the 
carnival season, would bring together all the fashion- 
able society of St. Petersburg. Monsieur and Madame 
Dournof received an invitation, which the President 
put upon his desk, forgetting it entirely. 

“ Do you know, my dear,” said Marianne, one morn- 
ing at breakfast, “I think it very strange we have 
received no invitation for the ball at the Embassy ? ” 

“We are invited,” replied Dournof, quietly eating 
his cutlet. 

“ Invited ? ” exclaimed Marianne, clapping her hands 
petulantly ; “ and you said nothing to me about it ? ” 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


233 


“ I did not suppose it could be of any consequence 
to you.” 

“ And why not ? Must I not have time to order my 
dress ? ” 

“ You have no intention of going ? ” remarked 
Dournof, stopping in the midst of his repast. 

“ Why, of course I intend to go. It has been a year, 
now, since I have had any pleasure ” 

A look from Dournof, silenced her. 

“I have been cruelly tried,” she continued, “and 
mean to enjoy some diversion now; we will go, will 
we not, dear husband ? ” 

“You will go if you like,” replied the President, 
“ I will not go.” 

“But papa will,” cried Marianne, ready to burst 
into tears. 

“Your father will go in his official capacity, but not 
as a widower of one solitary year. Go with your 
father, I do not object.” 

“ But why ? ” exclaimed Marianne. 

“ It seems to me,” replied Dournof, “ it is not for me 
to tell you.” 

He rose, and left the dining-room. Marianne already 
consoled, went to her dressmaker’s to order a pale blue 
dress, which she said to herself, “ would look gray by 
gas-light.” 

If Dournof was more and more annoyed at Mari- 
anne’s worldliness, he did not complain. His anger 
suppressed and dormant, but never totally extinguished, 


234 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


was aroused at each new folly committed by his wife. 
If his pride as a husband was wounded, he did not 
allow his heart to suffer ; he had one consolation, that 
with the exception of Niania, nobody in the world 
understood him. It was during the morning hours, 
when Marianne enjoyed her best sleep — ^between eight 
and ten o’clock, — that Niania and Baby appeared in 
Dournof’s study. 

The large, dark room, was no longer dreary. In the 
corner reserved for Marianne and which she had never 
occupied, a pile of playthings, carefully covered during 
the day, was turned upside down every morning. 
Little Serge would hide behind the curtains, and cry, 
“ Guckoo ! ” when his father would leave his desk, no 
matter how important was his work, and sit down on 
the carpet opposite Niania and Baby, to play with his 
child. 

It was there, between those loving hearts, that Serge 
learned to stand upon his little pink feet, and take the 
first steps, as he fell into his papa’s outstretched arms. 
Nobody knew the many silent thoughts Dournof and 
the old woman exchanged, while they were teaching 
the little one to prattle. No one ever suspected how 
deeply the celebrated President felt, when Serge 
looked up for the first time, and pointing with his little 
finger to Antonine’s portrait, said, “ Mamma ! ” 

No one knew that Dournof held his son up in his 
arms to kiss that portrait, while Niania, suddenly dis- 
turbed in her Spartan immobility, threw her apron 
hastily over her wrinkled face to conceal her tears. 


HEAETLESSNESS. 


235 


The President stooped and kissed this furrowed 
brow, dropping upon it a scalding tear, while the 
astonished Serge patted them both, trying to console 
them in their grief. 

“ That is not mamma,” said Dournof, finally, “ it is 
an aunt you will never see.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Baby. 

“ Because she is in Heaven,” was the reply. 

Baby had a most indefinite idea of Heaven — Mania, 
however, added this to his little prayer, “My aunt 
Antonine who is in Heaven,” she had no fear that 
Madame Dournof would ever ask the meaning of this 
addition, for the mother was never there when the 
child was dressed, or undressed. 

Dournofs greatest happiness was in his little Serge. 
His daughter Sophie was too young to amuse him, so it 
was Serge who excited his deepest love, although he 
was proud to see his little girl tottering about his 
study floor. 

The month of February was very cold this year — 
colds, croup and contagious fevers prevailed in the 
city ; but Marianne seemed invulnerable ; she passed 
her days in flitting from the florist’s to the dressmaker’s, 
from the dressmaker’s to the shoemaker’s, exactly as if 
she had nothing to put on. A poor shipwrecked sailor 
could not have been more anxious for something to 
wear, than Marianne, when she doffed her mourning. 

The day of the famous bidl arrived. For a week 
after the melancholy anniversary had passed, Marianne 


236 


HEAKTLESSNESS. 


skilfully lightened her mourning by degrees, so as not 
to shock her husband’s eyes too suddenly. This was 
time lost, for he never noticed her. About four o’clock 
on the important day of the ball, while Marianne before 
her mirror, was trying on the billowy folds of the blue 
silk which represented a dress, Dournof entered the 
nursery. Sophie was seated on a large red rug play- 
ing with her dolls, while Serge — with a bright spot 
on one cheek and the other deadly pale — was seated 
in his large arm-chair in front of the Holy Images at 
which however, he was not looking, and seemed suffer- 
ing and dull. 

Niania greeted the father with the words : 

“I have sent for the doctor — the young master 
seems very ill.” 

Dournof signified his approval and took the little 
fellow in his arms, who laid his weary, hot head down 
on his father’s shoulder with a sigh of relief. Dournof 
listened anxiously to the quick breathing of the little 
invalid, whom he held, until the arrival of the physi- 
cian. 

“It is nothing,” he said, “it is a mere childish 
ailment,” and giving some trifling remedy he departed 
with the promise of coming in again at night. 

About ten o’clock, before Marianne started to the 
ball, she stopped in the nursery to see her son. The 
large room was darkened by the heavy curtains, drawn 
before the doors and windows. One lamp was burning 
in the corner before the shrine, another, carefully 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


237 


^shaded, stood near the child’s bed. When Madame 
Dournof entered this silent chamber, Niania, who was 
half asleep watching the sick boy, lifted her head to 
see who the intruder was. 

I The rustling of silk on the floor, shimmering in its 
thousand folds, the brilliancy of Marianne’s diamonds 
on her throat and arms and in her hair, seemed so out 
of place near that darling boy breathing so painfully, 
that Niania could not conceal her surprise and indig- 
nation. 

“Is he better?” asked Marianne, stooping over the 
crib. 

“No, Madame, no, he is not better,” responded 
Niania, sharply. 

Marianne, somewhat affected, placed her hand on 
the child’s burning brow; he stirred, and opened his 
eyes, looked at her a moment without recognizing her, 
turned his head away to sleep. He did not know this 
lady, as he had never seen his mamma in ball dress. 

Marianne withdrew her hand which had become as 
hot as that little face, and laid it on the cool marble 
slab. 

“ How hot he is ! ” she said. “ Has the doctor been 
here again ? ” 

“ No, Madame,” answered Niania. 

The young woman looked at her ; a mother’s instinct 
prompted her to do something for her sick child, but 
she knew nothing of a mother’s duties. 

“ What can I do for him ? ” she asked, with a certain 


238 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


wish to be called upon to perform a duty for which she 
was so unprepared by education and nature. 

“ Notliing, nothing, Madame,” replied she old nurse, 
“we can manage by ourselves, perfectly well.” 

Marianne felt hurt at this reply, although it was not 
intended to wound her. She walked, majestically, up 
to the little girl’s bed, the rustle of her long, heavy 
dress, dragging over the floor, made little Serge open 
his eyes ; a racking cough seized him, he gasped and 
struggled, stretching out his hands in desperation. 
Niania took liim up, put his head on her shoulder, 
quieted him, then laid him down in his crib once more. 

As Marianne looked upon this scene, something sent 
a pang through her heart; Serge should have extended 
his arms to her ! But she was not going to allow her- 
self to be jealous of a nurse ! Stifling this foolish 
thought, she drew away the curtains around Sophie’s 
cradle. It was empty I 

“ Where is my daughter ? ” she asked, hastily. 

All these new and disagreeable impressions angered 
her somewhat. 

“ Monsieur ordered her to be taken to another room, 
in case the boy should have some contagious disease.” 

What! and such changes were made without con- 
sulting her, without even asking her opinion ! Dournof 
should have prepared her for this. 

She remembered that twice since nightfall he had 
been to her room, but she was not alone; the hair- 
dresser, the dressmaker, or the milliner was there, and 


HEAKTLESSNESS. 


239 


prevented any serious conversation. They had com- 
pany to dinner; when could the husband have a confi- 
dential talk with his wife. Marianne was unreasonably 
angry. 

“ What folly ! ” she said, sharply. “ Sophie will take 
cold in that room where the temperature is so different 
from what she is accustomed to. Go and tell the nurse 
to bring the baby here at once.” 

Niania did not move. 

“Well?” said Marianne, in a higher key. 

The old woman made no sign of moving. 

“ Go, at once ! ” repeated Madame Dournof, stamping 
her foot imperatively. 

“Monsieur did not order me to do so,” repeated 
Niania, without lifting her eyes. 

Marianne tore off her gloves and threw them on the 
floor, perfectly furious. 

“Am I no longer mistress in my own house?” she 
exclaimed. “ Miserable creature, do you dare to disobey 
me?” 

“I do not disobey you, Madame,” replied Niania, 
coldly, “ but I dare not set aside my master’s orders.” 

The door opened, softly, and Dournof entered. 

“What is the matter?” he asked, seeing Marianne’s 
disturbed face, and the old servant’s lips tightly com- 
pressed. 

“That woman refuses to obey me,” said Madame 
Dournof, between her teeth. 

“ What did you order her to do ? ” asked her husband, 
more agitated than he wished to betray. 


240 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


For a long time a conflict seemed inevitable between 
these two women, the only wonder was that it had not 
come before. He anxiously awaited the response. 

“ Madame wishes Sophie brought back to this room.” 

“And why?” asked the father, addressing his wife. 

“ Because — because I do not wish any orders given 
here without my knowledge ; because I do not wish to 
be treated like a stranger in my own house, and I choose 
to be consulted about everything that takes place 
here.” 

Dournof looked at his wifemiore in pity than anger. 

“ You were going to the ball ? ” he asked, without 
replying to her. 

Marianne looked at him in surprise. 

“You are going to the ball,” he repeated; “your 
father is waiting for you in the carriage. We will talk 
of this later.” 

Marianne moved slowly toward the ' door, then hesi- 
tated. For a moment her conscience almost over- 
powered her, she wanted to say — “I remain here ” — 
but a glance at her dress changed her mind. Her 
husband looked so serious that she was frightened ; — 
and at what? A singular mixture of fear, anger, 
obstinacy, and worldly vanity agitated her frivolous 
heart. She was dissatisfied with everything, particu- 
larly herself. 

“ Good-night,” she said, passing between the child’s 
bed and her husband. 

“ Good-night,” he replied, sadly. 


HEARTLESSNESS. 


241 


As she pulled aside the cuTtains to pass out, a fright- 
ful hoarse cough, as if some one was suffocating, stopped 
her in the doorway. Serge was seized with another 
paroxysm. 

She looked over her shoulder into the room; there 
she saw the fond father and Mania trying to calm 
the child, and give it a potion. Marianne felt they 
had no need for her near that bed, and left the room 
haughtily. 

As her carriage left the court, another drove in ; it 
was the doctor, coming to make the promised visit. 


15 


242 


AT THE BALL. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

AT THE BALL. 

M arianne forgot those painful emotions at the 
ball, for she was one of those persons who 
thought only of the present hour, and this one was full 
of charms for her. 

Her mourning had kept her out of the world for a 
time, but this repose was beneficial to her. Her mar- 
vellous freshness, the brilliancy which her recent anger 
imparted to her eyes, the perfect taste of her toilette — 
all enhanced her beauty, and caused her appearance in 
society to be regarded as a great social event. She 
was soon surrounded by a crowd of admirers, who 
were fascinated by her grace and wit. 

Such homage and flattery, contrasted strangely with 
the cold manner of her husband and the insolence of 
Niania: every one, it seemed, except those two persons 
who constituted themselves her judges, found her 
charming — and was not the world right ? This was a 
consoling thought, and she tried more than ever to fasci- 
nate all who came within her reach, especially a young 
Italian Marquis who was presented to her that night, 
and vowed he would ever be her most devoted admirer. 

In the midst of all this vanity, Marianne’s thoughts 
wandered back sometimes to the nursery; again, that 


AT THE BALL. 


243 


fearful cougli rang in her ears. Suddenly, about one 
o’clock, she felt intensely uneasy — disgusted with 
everything and everybody — she ordered her carriage. 

“Why do you leave so early?” asked her father, 
surprised at her moderation, for she was insatiable in 
her pursuit of pleasure. 

“ Serge is ill,” she replied, briefly. 

Her father looked astonished. 

“You said nothing to me about it,” he replied, 
reproachfully. 

The carriage door shut upon them ; Marianne threw 
herself into her father’s arms, and burst into tears. 

“I am a wretched woman,” she said, feelingly; 
“and a bad mother — my child is very ill. I have 
scarcely left off mourning for my mother, and yet I 
could not resist the temptation of going into the world 
again. I do not deserve to live ! ” 

Her father tried to calm her, and convince her that 
she was not so guilty as she thought. In his heart, he 
did not believe the child very sick, for Marianne could 
not have left him had he been in any danger. 

When they arrived at Dournof’s house. Monsieur 
Merof wanted to hear at once from the child. As he 
reached the nursery door, he heard a terrible cough, 
like a bark; he was struck with horror, and painful 
souvenirs were revived, for he knew full well that fatal 
malady which had robbed him of two children. 

“ It is the croup ! ” he murmured in a low tone. 

Marianne rushed into the nursery, leaving the door 
open ; her dress caught on a chair and upset it, making 


244 


AT THE BALL. 


such a noise that Dournof trembled, but she passed on, 
threw herself upon the bed, crying out : 

“ My Serge ! my son ! ” 

M^rof followed her in, raised the chair and closed 
the door. 

“Yes,” said Dournof, in a whisper; “your son is 
dying with the croup, and you have just returned from 
a ball ! ” 

Marianne was on her knees, her face in her hands, 
sobbing bitterly, her husband looking at her more in 
contempt than pity. 

“ Oh ! my God ! ” exclaimed Marianne, wringing her 
hands ; “ how I am punished ! What have I done, to 
be so chastised? My child! my boy! ” 

Her nervous, trembling hands disturbed the covering 
of the crib, and Dournof quietly lifted her from the floor. 

“ Go to your room,” he said, firmly. 

“ I want to take care of my boy ! ” said Marianne, 
clinging to the crib. 

Dournof put his strong hand on his wife’s shoulder, 
and added in an imperious tone : 

“ Go and change your dress. Are you not ashamed 
to drag your finery about here ? ” 

Marianne went out, crushed under the weight of this 
reproach, and was soon after joined by her father, who 
lingered to say a few words to his son-in-law. 

Had Marianne been accessible to any authority, she 
would have understood and obeyed; but her superficial, 
frivolous nature was not one to receive any lasting 
impression. 


AT THE BALL. 


245 


One hour later, she returned to the nursery in her 
dressing-gown, determined to assist Dournof in his 
mournful vigils. He, pitying that weak, distracted 
soul, allowed her to take a seat near the child’s bed; 
but Serge refused to lie in her arms, or take any medi- 
cine from anybody except his father or Niania. 

Marianne, after shedding many tears, threw herself on 
a sofa in the corner of the room, and soon fell asleep. 

The child’s cough awakened her. She started up, 
nervous, bewildered and terrified. Then realizing her 
own helplessness, she would sink back, and after a 
while fall asleep again. 

About five o’clock in the morning, her husband 
awoke her and said: 

“ The child is better ; go to bed now, and try to sleep.” 

She arose mechanically, and obeyed; her husband 
watching her as she disappeared. 

“ Poor, poor creature ! ” said he in a low tone ; “ God 
did not make you for trouble.” 

“ She is not our Antonine,” murmured Niania. 

Dournof pressed his finger to his lips. 

“ Antonine was too perfect ! ” said he sharply, stoop- 
ing over his son. 

Niania continued : 

“Our Antonine would never have gone to a ball, 
leaving a sick child at home ! Your wife. Master, is 
not a good wife.” 

“ She is the mother of my son,” replied Dournof, 
taking his place near the boy’s cradle. 


246 


A COKTEST. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A CONTEST. 

F or three days the child seemed to hover between 
life and death; during this time neither Niania, 
or Dournof, thought of themselves. Every two or 
three hours Marianne came to the nursery to ask how 
the child was, and invariably awakened him; she 
would then fall on the sofa weeping bitterly ; weary of 
this, she would go out to walk, or to drive, to quiet 
her nerves. 

While they waited anxiously for a change, Marianne 
in her solitude, concocted a little scheme. 

Thanks to the stoical indifference of the old woman 
to everything that did not concern her master, and to 
the frivolity of Madame Dournof’s character, no col- 
lision had hitherto taken place between the two women. 
Niania, respected by the servants because protected by 
the master, had so little to do with Marianne that some 
particular circumstance was necessary to prove the old 
servant’s supremacy in the household. Marianne was 
ever on the alert now, and nothing escaped her. 

She saw that Niania ordered everything, took charge 
of everything, in fact, supplanted her in the domestic 
arrangements, as she had in her son’s heart, so she took 
the greatest antipathy to the old nurse. 


A CONTEST. 


247 


Taking advantage of a moment when the child was 
sleeping, she went to her husband’s study, where he 
was trying to take a little rest on the sofa. 

Seeing her, he rose, for he thought this visit fore- 
shadowed no good for him ; but to his great surprise, 
Marianne spoke affectionately. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ it seems to me that Serge is 
better.” 

Dournof assented. 

“We can hereafter take care of him ourselves, I 
think.” 

Her husband looked at her but said nothing. 

“We have been wrong,” continued Marianne, “not 
to watch over our own children more closely, and to 
allow a servant to have so much authority in our 
house.” 

“ You are alluding to Niania ! ” said Dournof. 

“ Of course, she thinks she is mistress here, and it 
cannot go on — it is quite impossible !” 

Dournof looked at her, but did not speak. He had 
feared this for some time, but finally thought Marianne 
did not perceive the position the old woman had 
assumed; and, indeed, if Serge had not been ill, 
jealousy would never have penetrated Madame Dour- 
nofs heart. 

“We will give her a pension, and send her off, will 
we not, my dear ? ” insisted Marianne, with that sweet- 
ness which had won Dournof. 

“ Serge is not yet out of danger,” he replied. 


248 


A CONTEST. 


“ I do not mean to send her away immediately, but 
in a few days.” 

“ A good way to thank her for saving your child’s 
life ! ” said Dournof, ironically. “You have a strange 
way of showing your gratitude.” 

Marianne bowed her head; .she did not wish to 
appear ungrateful, or capricious, because her feminine 
dignity required the contrary. 

As she looked up, hoping to provoke an argument, 
she discovered Antonine’s portrait, which she had 
never seen before. 

“ What is that ? ” she asked trembling, and divining 
the answer before she heard it. 

Dournof followed her glance and hesitated. It 
would be very painful now to divulge his secret to this 
frivolous woman who bore his name, however, he must 
reply, so he said, briefly : 

“ It is Mademoiselle Karzofs portrait.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Marianne, turning away disdainfully, 
“ she was not pretty.” 

Dournof suppressed his feeling and said nothing ; he 
was hardened against all such attacks, and determined 
not to be affected by anything Marianne said. 

“ You have not replied,” continued his wife — “ shall 
we send Mania away?” 

“ By no means,” replied the husband. 

— “ But if I desire it ? ” 

“ You cannot desire it, for that would be too unjust.” 

“ Unjust ! and to whom ? ” 


A CONTEST. 


249 


“ To that woman who does not deserve to be driven 
away, because we owe our boy’s life to her, and 
because” — he hesitated trembling with emotion, “I 
wish her to remain, and that is sufficient.” 

“ And I,” replied Marianne, angrily, “ I wish her to 
leave this house immediately.” 

Dournof coolly took his seat at his desk and began 
to arrange his papers, as if he wished to work. 

Marianne looked at him, trying to speak, but bit her 
lips, and left the study. 

Her husband looked after her, and remained very 
thoughtful. 

“ This was his home ! a thoughtless, heedless woman, 
wicked sometimes, because of her frivolity, was the 
companion of his life ! ” 

He recalled the dreams of the past, when he built 
castles in the air, and Antonine lived far away from 
him, but for him. 

He had dreamed of an apartment, small and simply 
furnished, a lamp partially lighted the room, a child 
slept in the cradle, and another lay on Antonine’s lap, 
for she was both mother and nurse, yielding to no other 
woman the caresses and smiles of her children. The 
work was long and hard — to-morrow’s bread by no 
means certain — Dournof, stopped by an unforeseen 
difficulty, began to question that other dear soul, 
which responded to his, whispering to him of honor 
and truth. 

What a vanished dream I and what a contrast to 


250 


A C02sTEST. 


reality ! he uttered a deep sigh, pushed back his arm- 
chair, and went to gaze upon his son once more. 

The door opened a second time, and Niania entered. 

The rigid features of the old woman indicated deep 
grief ; with clasped hands, as if asking mercy, she came 
towards Dournof, and threw herself at his feet. 

“Pardon! pardon! master,” said she, with a trem- 
bling voice, as he raised her up, “ I cannot bear this ! ” 

“What is the matter?” asked the President. 

“Your wife has dismissed me, I cannot live fax 
from the little one — or from you. Master — you know 
this.” 

She said no more, swaying her old frame back and 
forth; pressing that wrinkled face in her hands, she 
continued : 

“Since our Antonine left this world I have never 
wanted to serve or love any one but you. You know it 
well, then why do you want me to leave ? or where shall 
I go? and the dear little one, who is still in great 
danger, who will take care of him ? ” 

Dournof took the hands of his humble servant. 

“ Console yourself, Niania,” said he, “ I have for- 
gotten nothing ; I will arrange that. Where is 
Madame ? ” 

“ In the nursery ; she drove me away from his bed- 
side, the poor little angel began to cry, and she scolded 
him.” 

Dournof heard no more, but ran like a madman t6 
his child’s room. 


A CONTEST. 


251 


Serge was crying still, but his tears, stopped by the 
severe maternal reprimand, rolled no longer down his 
sunken cheeks ; a convulsive sob, now and then, brought 
the feverish color to his pale face. Marianne, standing 
with her back to the door, was measuring out the sick 
child’s medicine. 

“Marianne,” said Dournof, with such a menacing 
tone that Madame Dournof started, and the spoon fell. 
“ Marianne, your place is not here ; go and amuse your- 
self, Mania and I will watch over the child.” 

“ Mania ! ” cried Serge, plaintively, “ my Niania ! ” 

Terrified by her husband’s look, Marianne stepped 
towards the door, her husband stood aside for her to 
pass, and when she was gone he called the old servant 
from his study. 

“ Take your place there, you will be responsible for 
iny son’s life.” 

Without answering. Mania resumed her seat, and in 
a few moments, soothed by her familiar voice, Serge 
was sleeping a peaceful slumber. 


252 


AN ELOPEMENT. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

AN ELOPEMENT. 

T he child’s convalescence was long and dangerous ; 

several relapses put him back, and not until warm 
weather was he able to go out, and then only in the 
middle of the day. His little sister Sophie came in and 
out now as she pleased, fresh and beautiful as possible. 

After her fruitless effort to drive away the old nurse, 
Marianne refused to enter her child’s room; she had 
the little girl put next to her, and showed a decided 
partiality for her. To those who questioned her about 
it, she replied : 

“ The intrigues of an old woman have robbed me of 
my son’s heart, I do not wish her to do the same with 
my daughter.” 

Marianne acted well this part of a martyr mother, 
and really believed herself the victim of an abominable 
conspiracy. She would walk for hours in the Jardin 
d’Et^, followed by the nurse with Sophie in her arms. 
The young marquis met her there regularly, and their 
conversations were long and animated. This was a 
subject for talk in society, but they said nothing more 
than that Madame Dournof was a giddy woman, and 
woiild soon tire of this Italian. 

Lent is the season of concerts. Marianne went every 


AN ELOPEMENT. 


253 


evening, either to one of these musical solemnities, or else 
to a dinner or small party. Dournof, always alone — for 
he invited no one to look upon his desertion — spent his 
time in working. Serge passed most of his day in his 
papa’s study. To deprive him of this pleasure was the 
greatest grief to him. Dournof received these proofs of 
infantine tenderness with great joy, so the trio were 
firmly established in the President’s private room. 
Niania, Dournof, and his son passed many happy days 
together, while Marianne walked off with her little girl 
and the Marquis. 

One evening, M. M^rof came in while the three 
friends were amusing themselves building card houses ; 
Dournof had just erected one on a high table, and 
Serge looked on, holding his breath for fear of blowing 
down the fragile edifice. 

“ Dournof,” said the Minister ; “ I want to speak to 
you.” 

The President gave Niania the pack of cards, and led 
his father-in-law into a remote corner of the vast room. 

“ No,” said M^rof, “ we must be alone.” 

Dournof passed into the salon, and closed the door, 

“ My friend,” said the Minister, ‘‘ I am going to give 
you a terrible blow, but I was struck before you ” 

He leaned for a moment on the back of a chair, then 
sat down. Dournof noticed the fearful pallor of his 
face. He waited impatiently, scarcely daring to pro- 
voke the announcement of the misfortune which 
seemed to have utterly crushed him. 


254 


AN ELOPEMENT. 


“ It is not my fault,” continued M^rof^ trying to 
lighten the blow ; “ it is not my fault, and if my wifo 

had lived, this would not have happened ; but you 

were not the man for her.” 

“ What has happened ? ” asked Dournof, affected by 
his father-in-law’s emotion. 

“ Marianne ” 

The unhappy father could say no more. Dournof 
started up suddenly. 

“ Is she dead ? ” he asked. 

“ Worse ! ” murmured M^rof, hoarsely. 

“ What then?” 

“ She has gone ! ” 

“ Gone ! With whom ? ” 

“With your daughter, Sophie.” 

Dournof rushed around the deserted mansion like a 
madman. The servants were taking tea in the kitchen ; 
everything seemed to be in order, but Madame had not 
come in for dinner, and the little girl’s room was empty. 

He returned, trembling, and supporting himself 
against the wall, the sight of his father-in-law gave him 
some confidence, and he summoned sufficient courage 
to say : 

“ Why did she go away ? ” 

“ She went, she asserts, because you made her life 
utterly unbearable ! ” 

Dournof made a sign of denial, which the Minister 
interrupted by saying : 

“ I know all that you have to tell me, and I cannot 


Ajq- ELOPEMENT. 


255 


accuse you; the unfortunate woman deserves all the 
blame.” 

“ Did she depart alone ? ” exclaimed the bewildered 
Dournof. 

M^rof bowed his head in shame. 

“Who was with her?” repeated the outraged hus- 
band, almost crushing the back of the gilded chair 
between his hands. 

“ That Italian — the Marquis ! They have gone to 
parts unknown. You can have them arrested ” 

“Arrested!” said Dournof, bitterly. Allow the 
gen% arm^ to bring back a wife, who publicly aban- 
dons her fireside ? What should I gain ? Let her 
go — the miserable creature — and work out her sad 
destiny. She was not made for ” 

“Dournof,” said M^rof, gently; “she is my daughter, 
still I ” 

The young man sat down and covered his face with 
his hands. 

“Here is what she writes,” replied M4rof, handing 
the open letter to his son-in-law, which he read mechan- 
ically. 

“ Dear Father : — Monsieur Dournof has ceased to 
love me, and has robbed me of my children’s love, and 
for no fault of mine. Notwithstanding my earnest 
entreaties, he retains in his household a servant who. 
has usurped my rights, and I cannot bear it ” 

“ Who is that servant ? ” asked Mdrof, hoping to find 
some excuse for Marianne’s conduct. 


256 


AN ELOPEMENT. 


“ Niania,” replied Dournof, shrugging his shoulders, 
and continuing to read : 

“I cannot bear it; I leave, accompanied by a faithful 
friend, who cannot see me treated in such a manner in 
my own house. I take with me my little girl ; of the 
two children God has given me, this is the only one 
that loves me ; I leave with my husband the one he 
prefers.” 

“ But what folly ! ” said Dournof, when he had 
finished. “ It is folly of the most dangerous kind I Let 
her go where Fate leads her. She has ruined my life ! 
but my daughter ! she cannot keep her ! ” 

“ She will not keep her long,” replied M^rof, sadly ; 
“ the child will soon be in her way.” 

Dournof buried liis head in his hands again, and 
abandoned himself to mournful meditation. At the 
end of a short time, which seemed long to them, M4rof 
placed his hand affectionately on his son-in-law’s 
shoulder; the two men understood each other, thor- 
oughly. Just as they were about to shake hands, little 
Serge came in the salon. 

“ Where is my papa ? ” he asked, in his baby talk. I 
want to kiss my papa, and grandpa, before I go to bed.” 

Niania, silent as usual, followed the child to the 
doorway. The two men took him in their arms, and 
kissed him. Bitter tears fell from the eyes of the out- 
raged husband, upon the beautiful blonde curls of the 
boy, and the white hair of the dishonored father. 


REALITY. 


257 


CHAPTER XXX. 

REALITY. 

W HEN Dournof was alone in the deserted apart- 
ment, he wandered about from room to room. 
Everywhere were traces of great luxury, rather than 
good taste — marks of neglectful servants. Except 
the President’s study, which Niania took special care of, 
the rich furniture, prepared to receive the young bride, 
was scratched, abused and discolored; proving the 
carelessness of the mistress of the house. 

Dournof saw this with newly opened eyes, although 
it had not been altogether unnoticed by him previously. 

Yes, Marianne had departed, and with a man devoid 
of all mental and moral attractions. She was now 
calmly weighed and condemned by her husband. 

He had loved this frivolous young girl — this un- 
worthy woman — this mother without maternal love — 
he had loved her, but had he loved her rightly ? 

The remembrance of his love for Antonine was to 
his wounded heart, as sharp and cutting as remorse; 
he had not loved Marianne with that deep love in which 
respect is mingled with tenderness — where one fears 
the displeasure of the beloved object more than the 
frowns of sovereigns — it was not thus he had loved 
Marianne ! 


16 


258 


REALITY. 


Dournof tried to remember bow be bad behaved 
towards bis young wife. 

“ Have I humored her too much ? spoiled her ? ” be 
asked himself. “Have I been too indulgent, or too 
severe ? ” 

He recalled the scenes of his early married life, 
when Marianne’s ill humors and poutings, were looked 
upon as childish faults to be gently reproved and cor- 
rected. 

“I have endeavored to do my duty towards her,” 
thought the injured man, “ it is she, who is guilty, and 
only she. Shall I follow her? Shall I force her to 
return to a fireside she has disgraced ? How should I 
receive a wife who through force and not penitence 
has returned to her duties ?” 

Dournof shuddered with horror at the thought of this 
woman, who had dishonored his name, appearing again 
in his presence. Some day, when tired of the world, 
weary of the burden of life, Marianne might return to 
her blighted home, throw herself weeping at his feet, 
and ask pardon for her children’s sake. What should he 
do, he, Dournof, before the tears of this foolish woman 
who did not know good from evil ? Should he discard 
her then? She would accuse him of condemning her 
forever to a life of vice. Restore her ? What oppro- 
brium to breathe the same air with this lying, adulterous 
woman ! 

He returned to his study. Sophie’s room was dark 
and empty, and gave a new channel to his thoughts. 


REALITY. 


259 


What would become of his baby girl — the innocent 
little one — if reared by such an unworthy woman? 

Poor little creature ! her entire future would be 
blighted by the very one who ought to protect it! 

Must her pure heart be sullied in the bud by harsh 
contact with the world? Would she despise her 
mother, or succumb, as she had done? 

Dournof, perfectly overwhelmed, saw no limits to his 
despair. Wherever he turned, there was not a ray of 
hope. Public opinion, which was of so little conse- 
quence to himself, would crush his children. He 
remained motionless, his hands so tightly pressed 
together, that the nails tore the flesh; his mental 
anguish was so much greater than the physical, that he * 
did not even notice the pain. 

He looked up to heaven, perhaps to utter some cry 
of desperation, when his eye rested upon Antonine’s 
portrait. 

“ Ah I ” he cried, “ dearly beloved ! my wrong is to 
you I I should never have admitted a stranger into the 
sanctuary of a heart consecrated to you I After having 
loved you, I should never have loved anything but my 
duty, I should have lived the life we talked of together, 
and given myself to my country! I should have 
remained poor and unknown — despised all honors and 
dignities, which have so turned my head — and as a 
child of the people I should have consecrated myself to 
them; and since God, in His goodness, did not permit 
your love and wisdom to brighten my life, I should 


260 


REALITY. 


have believed myself condemned to solitude, and 
accepted the judgment, I should have lived and died 
alone ! ” 

Niania entered noiselessly, and stood in front of her 
master. 

“ What do you want ? ” asked Dournof. 

The old woman curtseyed respectfully. 

“ My mistress is away,” said she, “ I have come for 
your orders.” 

“ In regard to what? ” 

“ What shall be done with her things ? ” 

“Nothing,” replied Dournof, painfully, “nothing at 
all.” 

“ They must be folded and put away in trunks.” 

“ Yes do as you like.” 

Silence reigned, prolonged and unbroken as if the 
shadow of Death rested upon them. 

“ Master,” continued the old servant, “ you are sad ! ” 

Dournof laughed bitterly. 

“Do you wish me to rejoice?” he said ironically. 
“ You are perhaps right, for certainly nothing is worse 
than before.” 

Niania shook her head, and said: 

“ That is not the way to talk, you don’t know how 
to submit to the will of God ! ” 

“ It is true ! ” exclaimed Dournof, “ I do not know 
how' to submit, but why should one blow follow the 
other in such quick succession ? Why, of these two 
women, should the angel be taken and the demon left, 
to be my evil spirit, and my children’s curse?” 


REALITY. 


261 


“You blaspheme, master,” said Niania, severely, 
“ God’s ways are past finding out.” 

“ So they may be,” replied Dournof, “ do you know, 
Niania, when I think of Antonine I do not know how 
I ever married Marianne.” 

Niania bowed her head solemnly as she said, — 
“ Our Antonine was an angel, and yet she sinned 
against Heaven, in seeking death before her time. You 
young people are impatient under trials, and know not 
how to bear adversity; you want life to be always 
gay and bright, and when trouble comes, instead of 
receiving it as a chastisement to make you better, you 
run from it, like frightened children. You must be 
more of a man, and accept life as God gives it, and 
submit to it.” 

“ When we can ! ” murmured Dournof. “ Oh, Anto- 
nine ! how happy I would have been with you ! ” 

Dournof felt a keener, sharper grief than any he had 
experienced before. Antonine’s loss appeared greater 
to him when he compared the Past and the Present. 
Gradually his life became utterly intolerable ; he ceased 
to occupy himself with his own affairs, but devoted his 
whole energies to his profession; his son Serge no 
longer diverted him ; the child, still delicate, was sub- 
ject to frequent attacks of the same terrible malady. 
The unhappy man’s existence was thus passed, living 
between the fear of losing his son, and seeing his wife 
return. This second fear was realized. 

Three years after Marianne’s flight, there came to 


262 


REALITY. 


him a woman, simply dressed, leading a little girl, 
scarcely four years old. Admitted to the President’s 
study this woman took a letter out of her pocket and 
handed it to Dournof, who immediately recognized 
Marianne’s handwriting, and Sophie’s nurse. Laying 
down the letter, he looked at the child ; the resem- 
blance was not very striking to her little brother, but 
Dournof saw in the child his own eyes ; the beautiful 
curly hair was now cut short to the head. 

“ Sophie ? ” said he, gently. 

The little girl stepped forward and looked at him, 
boldly. 

“ Sophie,” said he, ag^n, “ do you know I am your 
papa ? ” 

The child shook her head. 

“ My papa was down there,” said she, “ but it is a 
long time since he went away.” 

“Don’t be silly, Mademoiselle,” interrupted the 
nurse, “ you were told that you were going to see your 
papa ; the President is your father.” 

Dournof drew the little girl to him, and kissed her 
with tenderness and pity, his heart full of sorrow to see 
innocence thus early stained, and thought that when she 
was older that this stigma would still be upon her, in 
spite of every effort to obliterate it. 

The nurse again offered the letter to the President, 
and as he refused to accept it, left it on the desk. 
Finally, after long hesitation, he opened it. 

The child looked at him in perfect astonishment, and 


REALITY. 


263 


the unfortunate father recognized in her expression and 
in her gestures the same fascinations that would make 
her a second Marianne. Her movements were already 
affected, her face lacked candor ; in fact Dournof was 
looking upon a little woman, one of those precocious 
children seen in the gardens of the Tuileries, who imi- 
tate their mothers’ friends, and alas, sometimes, their 
mothers themselves. Dournof drew a long sigh, kissed 
his child, and then read the letter : 

“My eyes have been opened to my faults,” said 
Marianne, “ and I send you your child as a messenger 
of peace. You wiU not refuse to grant this innocent 
little one her guilty mother’s pardon : I want to return 
to your home, and I will hereafter be a devoted wife 
and mother.” 

Dournof smiled at these words. 

“ I understand what a response will cost you,” con- 
tinued this singular epistle, “and therefore I shall 
regard your silence as a permission to return. Do not 
let us continue to show the world the spectacle of a 
divided hearthstone. I loved you fondly, and if you 
will pardon me, we can yet be very happy.” 

Receiving no word of approbation or disapprobation, 
the nurse said, quietly : 

“ Well, Monsieur, what do jon wish me to do ? ” 

Dournof started as if aroused from a dream. 

“ Go to your old room,” he said, “ you will remain 
here.” 

He kissed the little girl the second time, and when 


264 


KEALITY. 


she had gone, rose, and paced the floor up and down 
for a long time. 

“ Happy ! happy together ! What sad irony ! ” he 
thought, walking to and fro with a slow, measured 
step, regular as the pendulum of a clock. “ Happy in 
a union sullied by infamy, with the remembrance of the 
past between her and me ! An adulterous image always 
at the fireside ! She may forget it and perhaps may 
again feel for me that light, superficial passion of which 
her frivolous heart is alone capable ! She might be 
happy ! but I ? ” 

He stopped — looked vaguely out the window — then 
cast a glance around the apartment, until his eye rested 
upon Antonine’s portrait. 

“ There is my happiness,” said he, “ could I never see 
that woman I despise, could I live peaceably with 
Niania and Serge, and forget there are any other beings 
in the world except these two souls, who love me de- 
votedly, to live together under the eye of Antonine, 
who would look down upon us with pity, and sometimes 
smile upon us from on high, life might be endurable. 
Antonine, what shall I do? Must I drive from my 
home that woman — my worst enemy, or shall I stifle 
my feelings of aversion and disgust for my children’s 
sake, and take her back ? ” 

The idea appalled him of having Marianne again in 
his house, so long silent and gloomy — only enlivened 
by his boy’s laugh. When Dournof thought of the 
change his heart failed him. 


EE AL IT Y . 


265 


“I cannot! no, I cannot!” cried he, wringing his 
hands in anguish. 

“ It must be, however ! ” answered Conscience ; “ how 
can I refuse to this foolish woman the only means of 
restoring her to a life of respectability ? How can 
I withhold the last straw from a drowning soul? 
Could you sleep peacefully, Dournof, if you thought 
you were casting into the great gulf of vice the 
wife who bears your name — the mother of your chil- 
dren — when you can save her by opening your door to 
her?” 

“No! I cannot!” repeated Dournof. “It is beyond 
my power.” 

After meditating sometirne he made a sudden resolve, 
aiid went to his son’s room, where he found the two 
children playing together on the carpet, as if they had 
never been separated. 

“ Niania,” said Dournof, “ come here.” Mania 
obeyed, and followed her master to his study. 

“Do you know that my wife wants to return?” said 
the President, abruptly. 

“The nurse has just told me so,” replied the old 
woman, bowing down her head. 

“ Where is she ? ” 

“ At Varsorie.” 

“ What is she doing there ? ” 

“ She is waiting for your permission.” 

“ And if I refuse ? ” 

Mania looked at her master perfectly amazed. 


266 


REALITY. 


“ How can you refuse ? ” she asked, “ is she not your 
wife ? ” 

It was now Dournof s turn to look astonished ; atten- 
tively gazing at the old woman, who was very melan- 
choly, but submissive, for she knew how to be patient 
and resigned — he answered slowly : 

“ But you know I have reason to complain of her.” 

“ Nobody is without sin, Master,” replied the old 
servant. “ If she desires to do right you should allow 
her to try.” 

“ Should she recommence her ” 

Niania crossed herself. 

“ May God preserve us from a like misfortune ! ” she 
said. “ Why should you think of such an evil falling 
upon your household? She would not twice commit 
the same error.” 

“And if she should fall again?” insisted Dournof, 
very much excited. 

“You want to know more than the Holy Spirit,” said 
Niania, reproachfully; “that is not right.” 

“ Then,” said he, finally, “ you wish her to return ? ” 

“ She ought to return,” said the loyal conscience of 
Niania. 

“Yet you, who want her back, have no love for her, 
and she has less for you! ” 

“ That is true, master, but you promised me I should 
never leave little Serge, and besides, she ought to return 
here, for this is the home to which she was appointed 
by God.” 


REALITY. 


267 


Dournof dismissed Niania with a wave of his hand — 
she understood and retired. 

That day the President forgot to dine. His boy’s 
excitement — who, being accustomed to a lonely life, 
hardly knew what to make of his sister’s arrival — had 
no power to elicit a smile from his father. His lamp 
burned way into the night, and at last, weary of mental 
conflict, he wrote the few words, 

“ Come if you will I ” 


268 


SHAMELESSNESS. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

SHAMELESSNESS. 

I N a few days, Madame Dournof appeared. One 
would have supposed she would have been some- 
what embarrassed and ashamed at appearing under 
these circumstances before her husband and household 
— but there was nothing of the kind. Undoubtedly, 
Marianne fully realized her position — but she held her 
head haughtily — and no one suspected it. 

Her escapade had not caused much talk in the world, 
because of Dournof ’s reserve and apparent indifference; 
so that her return was not an event of very great 
importance. Monsieur Merof always said his daughter 
remained away on account of her health, and her 
friends pretended to believe it, so that when she re- 
turned, there was not much notice taken of it. 

The evening of the first day ^ so embarrassing to 
every one except Marianne — when the children were 
in bed, Madame Dournof came in her husband’s study. 

He looked up and frowned, for he had not thought 
of any such intrusions, but before he could say a word, 
his wife was established opposite him and talking affec- 
tionately. 

The years of absence had improved Madame Dournof 
immensely ; she had lost those childish graces she had 


SHAMELESSJ^ESS. 


269 


retained so long after her marriage, but she had grown 
much more womanly — more artificial, perhaps — but 
more fascinating. Marianne thoroughly understood 
the art of dress. She knew that a toilette may en- 
hance the beauty of a woman, and also how the 
beauty of a woman may be used to obtain these 
toilettes! . 

“You are truly good, my dear,” said Marianne, in 
her musical voice, which was one of her greatest 
charms. The clear ring had disappeared, but there was 
a certain tone of suppressed passion in every word. 
“ You are, indeed, good to bid me return, and I cannot 
express to you all the gratitude I feel.” 

Marianne’s eyes seemed to have a new meaning in 
them, too, as she fixed them on Dournof; but he 
remained firm, without looking up from the carpet. 

“ I know, full well, what I owe to you,” continued 
Marianne, “and I will not be ungrateful. I have 
reflected much in the past few years, and concluded 
you were not alone responsible for my error.” 

“ Indeed ! ” replied Dournof, in his cold way ; “ have 
you made that discovery? You are very good.” 

Without comprehending the sarcasm of his words, 
Marianne, with her eyes cast down, continued : 

— “Yes — I was too young, perhaps — in fact, too 
childish ; I did not know how to appreciate your kind- 
ness ; your serious manner appeared to me like coldness ; 
your dignity, — pride. You were too grave for me I ” 

“ How she prevaricates ! ” thought Dournof, recalling 


2T0 


SHAMELESSNESS. 


their early married life, when he was fascinated by the 
grace and beauty of this charming woman, who seemed 
to adore him, and whom he loved devotedly. In those 
happy days, he was neither serious nor dignified in her 
presence ; but he preserved his silence. 

Marianne resumed : 

“I loved you passionately — yes — notwithstanding 
your sarcastic smile. I loved you, and you know it ! ” 

“ Why did you cease to love me ? ” asked Dournof, 
quietly. 

“Because — because you were too hard towards me,” 
replied Marianne, impetuously; “because you did not 
like what I liked; because you opposed me in every- 
thing ; because my friends became your enemies — or, 
rather, because you regarded them as such ” 

“ You chose your friends so well,” interrupted Dour- 
nof, sternly, “that it was advisable for me to call them 
mine, was it not ? ” 

Marianne blushed, and trembled from head to foot. 

“ He will kill me ! ” she thought. 

“ It was despair, that drove me to my fall,” she said, 
with eyes full of tears, and inexpressible tenderness in 
her voice; “it was because you did not love me any 
more ” 

“ It was not / who broke the first link in the chain 
of love which made our life so happy ! ” 

“Yes, it was ! it was you, and you, alone ! ” replied 
Marianne, rising. 

She went to her husband, threw her beautiful arms 


SHAMELESSNESS. 271 

around his neck, laid her graceful head upon liis 
shoulder, and murmured : 

“ I love you still ! Forgive me, and let us be happy 
together.” 

Dournof was so surprised at this conduct, that he 
could scarcely believe his eyes; but when he felt 
Marianne’s face resting on his breast, he recoiled as if 
contaminated. 

“ How do you dare ! ” he cried, unclasping his wife’s 
arms from his neck. “ How do you dare ? ” 

“I was jealous of Serge ! ” wliispered Marianne, trying 
to seize the hand he withdrew from her clasp. 

“ Jealous ! When did I ever give you the shadow of 
a doubt ? ” * 

Marianne lifted proudly her repentant head, and 
pointed to Antonine’s portrait : 

“ Here,” said she. 

Dournof looked so steadily at his wife, that she 
turned deathly pale ; he then seized her by the wrist 
and threw her on her knees, saying : 

“ Wretched woman ! wretched ” 

He tried to speak, but could find no words to express 
himself, his anger made him lose his better judgment. 

Marianne, perfectly bewildered, remained prostrate ; 
he let go his grasp, stepped back a little, and, still 
gazing upon her, said: 

“ You have dared to insult a saint ! Yes, you are 
right, I am guilty, for I should have remained faithful 
to that departed angel. I felt this even on the day that 


272 


SHAMELESSNESS. 


I yielded to your seductions. You are flesh, she was a 
spirit ; you had nothing in common with her, you had 
never trodden the same paths.” 

He turned away from her with contempt, and Mari- 
anne, taking advantage of this step, rose to her feet. 
Her feigned humility had disappeared, and she an- 
swered, in a harsh tone : 

“ I offered you peace and you choose war. I accept 
it, but remember you are hereafter responsible for the 
future. I will remain where I am, I declare to you. In 
order to drive me away you will have to resort to 
violence, and you dare not try that ! ” 

As she uttered these words she left the room. Her 
dress rustled over the floor for a few minutes in the 
adjoining apartment, then all was quiet again. 

Dournof buried his head in his hands, everything 
reeled around him, he knew not whither to turn. After 
a moment of cruel torture, he rang the bell. Niania 
came. 

“ Niania,” said he, “ you love my children ? ” 

“ As you do, my master,” replied the old woman. 

“ Will you swear that you will never leave them?” 

“ Why should I abandon them ? ” said Niania, shrug- 
ging her shoulders. “Never until I die, you may 
depend on that.” 

“ That is right. Tell the coachman to bring the 
carriage to the door.” 

“ At this hour ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, I have business ; and bid him be quick.” 


SHAMELESSNESS. 


273 


She obeyed in silence, as usual, and Dournof was left 
alone. He arranged various papers, and wrote several 
letters ; addressing one to his father-in-law ; looked in 
the drawer for Antonine’s letters, glanced over them 
hurriedly, then threw them in the fire. Looking around 
him, he perceived the young girl’s portrait, he tore it 
down, took it out of the frame, and consigned it to the 
flames with the letters, then watched the papers writh- 
ing in the fire until nothing was left of the picture but 
blackened cinders. 

When the last spark died away he scattered the 
embers with the tongs, and soon all was dark. 

“ The carriage is ready,” said Niania, coming in. 

Dournof nodded, and Niania continued : 

“ Are you going far, alone, and at night ? Suppose 
anything should happen to you ? ” 

“No great misfortune can happen to me again,” 
replied Dournof, going towards his son’s room. 

According to Marianne’s order both children were 
put in the nursery ; they each had their small bed, and 
the same happy, peaceful expression rested upon both 
faces. Dournof looked upon them with the same degree 
of tenderness, kissed them lovingly, then left the room. 

Old Niania followed him about, uneasy, as a faithful 
dog who watches his master depart without him. 
Dournof turned back and kissed the old wrinkled fore- 
head, respectfully, as he said : 

“ You will watch over them ; ” then disappeared. 

17 


274 


THE CEMETEKY. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE CEMETERY. 

T he night was very black when Dournof arrived at 
the inn at Pargoloro. He alighted at this place, 
and ordered the driver to return to the village, after his 
horses were rested. 

He had never been there before, as Dournof always 
went in a hired carriage on this pilgrimage. The coach- 
man turned back, unsuspectingly, and was soon out of 
sight. The President then took the road to the Ceme- 
tery. 

It was a cold November night ; the snow was not yet 
deep enough for sleighing, but it had fallen over the 
barren earth like a winding sheet. The declining moon 
cast a faint light, and it was difficult to distinguish the 
route. Every one seemed to be asleep in the village. 
In each house was the faint glimmer of the lamp that 
burned before the Images and shone through the win- 
dows, reminding Dournof of the candles burning for 
the dead on the day he first followed the road to the 
Cemetery. 

The north wind whistled through the branches, blowing 
handfuls of fine snow in the President’s face. The dreary 
Cemetery had neither wreaths or flowers on its solitary 
crosses. Antonine’s tomb alone, recognizable at a long 


THE CEMETERY. 


275 


distance by its elevation, was covered with wreaths of 
silvered metal, for Dournof did not wish it to look 
neglected when it was too late for natural flowers. 

He climbed up the hill without perceiving the pierc- 
ing cold which cut through his garments. 

“ I am coming ! coming I ” he murmured. 

He thought no more -of Marianne, she was forgotten ; 
but silently took his way over the path, where, ten 
years before, he had followed — and with the same in- 
tensity of suffering and despair — Antonine’s coffin to its 
last resting place. Arriving at the tomb he leaned upon 
the cross all out of breath, after having walked so fast. 
All was quiet, dark, and gloomy; the moon was just 
disappearing behind the trees on the other side of the 
lake when he pressed his lips upon the cold stone. 

“ I have come,” he said, “ because you alone are my 
hope, my salvation. Console me, departed soul ! beloved 
saint ! Take me in your arms like a sick child. I am 
ill — my heart aches — I am weary ” 

He sank upon the stone, clinging to the cross with his 
left arm, and leaned his head upon the chilly iron. 
Gradually his eyes closed ; his frame, tired out from the 
inward struggle, seemed to be weighed down under the 
burden of a delicious languor. The cold, frosty air 
made him drowsy. “ Console me ! calm me ! ” he mur- 
mured, “ I need repose and peace.” 

He did not want to sleep long, but was overcome. 
Gradually a vision seemed to rise above the frozen lake, 
it was this: Antonine, clothed in white, in her bridal 


276 


THE CEMETERY. 


dress, floating heavenward ; the long folds of her shrou'd 
enveloped the sleeping Dournof. He followed her with- 
out a pang, without a tear.” No mortal man could tell 
when the dream finished. 

In the morning he was found dead, clinging to the 
cross, with his arms around it, stiff and cold. 

M. Merof took the children to his home. The letter 
left by his son-in-law spoke of a long journey which 
would be far, and for an unlimited period ; this journey 
might have brought Dournof to America, if death had 
not ended his troubles. The grandfather never gave 
up the children. 

Niania herself prepared Dournof s body for the grave, 
as she had done Antonine’s, and in her heart, blessed 
the Lord for reuniting them. She is very old, but 
active still, and in M. M^rof’s quiet household watches 
over the children, hearing the prayers morning and 
evening, of the little girl and boy, who never forget, 
“Papa and Aunt Antonine in heaven”; for the old 
nurse is sure the forgiving Father Almighty has received 
them both in his arms. 


THE END. 


Henry Greville’s New Works* 


l>onrnof. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Dosia,” “ Marrying Off a Daughter,” etc. Translated by Miss Marie Stewart. 

“Dournof” was written in Russia during Madame Gr^ville's residence in St. Peters- 
burg, and is a charming and graphic story of Russian life, containing careful studies of 
Russian character, and character drawing, which are most admirable. 

Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Grimlle, author of 
“ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Sonia,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

“ Bonne-Marie” is a charming story, the scenes of which are laid in Normandy and 
in Paris. It will no doubt create a sensation, such is its freshness, beauty, and delicacy. 

Sonia. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Marrying Off a Daughter,” “ Gabrielle,” etc. Ti'anslated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

“Sonia” is charming and refined, and is a powerful, graceful, domestic story, being 
most beautifully told — giving one a very distinct idea of every-day home life in Russia. 

/ 

Saveli’s Expiation. By Henry Griville. A dramatic and powerful novel, and 
a pure love story. Translated from Uie French, by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

“ Saveli’s Expiation ” is one of the most dramatic and most powerful novels ever pub- 
lished, while a pathetic love story, running all through its pages, is presented for relief. 

Gabrielle; or. The House of Manreze. Translated from the French of 
Henry Griville, who is the most popular writer in Europe at the present time. 

“Gabrielle; or. The House of Macr:^ze,” is a very thrilling and touching story, 
most skilfully told, and follows the life of the girl whose title it bears. 

A Friend ; or, I*’ Ami. A Story of Every-Day Life. By Henry Griville, author 
of “Sonia,” and “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Translated in Paris by Miss Helen Hanley. 

This tender and touching picture of French home-life will touch many hearts, as it shows 
how the love of a true and good woman will meet with its reward and triumph at last. 

Above are 50 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. i 


Bosia. A Russian Story. author of “ Bonne-Marie,” “Saveli’s 

Expiation,” “Philomeno’s Marriages,” “Marrying Off a Daughter,” “Sonia,” etc. 

“Dosia” has been crowned by the French Academy as the Prize Novel of the year. 
It is a charming story of Russian society, is written with a rare grace of style, is brilliant, 
pleasing and attractive. “Dosia” is an exquisite creation, and is pure and fresh as a rose. 

Pretty Bittle Countess Zina. By Henry Griville, author of “Dosia,” 
“Sav61i’s Expiation,” “A Friend,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. j 

Zina, the Countess, bears a certain resemblance to Dosia — that bewitching creature — in 
her dainty wilfulness, while the ward and cousin, Vassalissa, is an entire new creation. 

Philomene’s Marriag’es. From the French of “Zm Mariages de Philomene.^ 
By Henry Griville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “Gabrielle,” etc. 

The American edition of “ PniLOMiiNE’s Marriages,” contains a Preface written by 
Henry Greville, addressed to her American Readers, which is not in the French edition. 
Translated in Paris, from Henry Griville' s manuscript, by Miss Helen Stanley. 

Marrying;' Off a I>aus;hter. By Henry author of “Dosia,” “Saveli’s 

Expiation,” “ Gabrielle,” “ A Friend,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 
“Marrying Off a Daughter” is gay, sparkling, and pervaded by a delicious tone of 
quiet humor, and will bo read and enjoyed by thousands of readers. 

Four last are 75 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent to 
any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


^MILE ZOLA’S 6REAT BOOKS. 


li’Assommoir. A Novel. By j^hnile Zolfi, the great French novelist. Over One 
Hundred Thousand Copies have already been sold in France of “ L’Assommoir.” 

“ L’Assommoir” is one of the greatest novels ever printed, and has already attained a 
sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. It will be found to be one of 
the most extraordinary works ever written, full of nature and of art, dnunatic, narrative, 
and pictorial. In it, vice is never made attractive, but “ Zola” paints it in all its hideous 
reality, so that it may tend to a moral end, for in it he unquestionably calls “ a spade a 
spade.” As a picture of woe and degradation springing from drunkenness, “ L’Assommoir” 
is without a rival. Zola has attained a measure of success scarcely paralleled in our 
generation, and his themes and his style, his aims, methods, and performances provoke 
the widest attention and the liveliest discussions throughout the whole of Europe. The 
translator, John Stirling, has done his work iti the most able and satisfactory manner, 
w ith great tact, delicacy and refinement. Complete in one large square duodecimo vol- 
ume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Abba’s Temptation ; or, I^a Fante de I.’Abb6 Mouret. A 

Love Story. By ^mile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene,” etc. 

“ The Abba’s Temptation,” by ^mile Zola, writes one of the most noted literary 
editoi-s in New York, to John Stirling, the translator, “is the sweetest love story I ever 
read, and is a great book, for there is much in the work that is lovely and pathetic. It is 
a work of marvellous ability, not immoral in any sense, while it teaches a great lesson. 
The Abbe Mouret, brother of Helene, who serves to point the moral in Zola’s previous 
work, entitled, ‘ Helene; or, Une Page D’ Am our,’ is the Cure of a poor village whose in- 
habitants are steeped in all the degradation of peasant life. In the Abbe is developed the 
devotional spirit of his mother. Innocent of all guile, uncomfortable and blushing at 
the confessions of his female parishioners, devoted to the worship of the Virgin Mary, he, 
w ith his half-witted sister, lives a life of purity and happiness, until his mind is unbal- 
anced by the constant strain on both mind and body, caused by his incessant vigils. To 
save his life, his uncle. Dr. Pascal, takes him to a deserted villa, and confides him to the 
care of a half-wild niece of the man in charge. Gradually his reason is restored ; and 
with returning reason comes health, strength and love. As Zola depicts the innocent 
love and purity of the unhaitpy Abbe, one can scarce believe that he, who wrote ‘ L’Assom- 
moir,’ can be the author of this sweet, p.athetic, and charming love story.” Complete in 
one large volume, price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

H^l^ne ; or, Fne Page P’Amour, By £miU Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” 
“ The Abbe’s Temptation ; or, La Faute de L’Abbe Mouret,” etc. 

“ 15milk Zola” is the greatest author in France at the present day. His novel, 
“ L' Assommoir,” published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, has already had a sale in France 
of over One Hundred Thousand Copies, and “ Helene,” which is extremely interesting — 
indeed, exciting — lately issued there, has already passed into its forty-eighth edition. One 
of the most noted literary editors in New York wrote as follows to Mrs. Sherwood, the 
translator: “ I have jnst finished reading, and return to you by mail, your advance copy 
of ‘ Zola’s ’ extraordinary book, ‘ H^lfene.' It is admirably written, and is full of powerful 
and life-like delineations of character, and you, with your skill, will have no difficulty in 
rendering it into pure English. By all means translate it at once, and your publishers 
will have the honor of introducing the cleverest book as well as a new and the greatest 
writer of the day to the American public.” And in a letter received by Mrs. Sherwood 
from one of the most celebrated critics in Paris, he says: “Why do you not translate 
‘ Zola’s ’ new book, ‘ Helene,' at once ? It is the great sensation over here. The book 
is admirably w'ritten by a truly great artist, and w’ould prove to be a great success in 
America. 'The characters and scenes of the story are well conceived and well executed, 
and it is impossible to deny the author’s great skill, and every reader will acknowledge 
‘ Zola’s ’ great power. Besides the story, there are many pages devoted to rapturous de- 
scriptions of Paris at sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. Zola has made his 
name famous, and he will find plenty of readers for all he writes.” Complete in one 
large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, 
Black and Gold. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent to any 
place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting pince to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


^mile Zola’s Hooks in Press. 


NANA! n,e Sequel to and Continuation of “ L’ASSOMMOIR.” 
By Emile Zola. Translated by John Sterling. 

LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile Zola. 

XjA CUREE. By Emile Zola. 

LE VENTRE UE PARIS. By Emile Zola, 

LA CONQTJETE DE PLASSANS. By ikiiU Zola. 

SON EXCELLENCE EUGENE ROUGON. By imUe Zola. 
CONTES A NINON. By imile Zola. 

NOUVEAUX CONTES A NINON. By Aiile Zola. 


ALREADY PUBLISHED. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola. One of the Greatest Novels 
ever published. Complete in one large square duodecimo 
volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in 
Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION ; or, LA PAUTE DE 
L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile Zola. Uniform with 
L’Assommoir.” One large square duodecimo volume, price 
75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

HELENE; or, UNE PAGE D’ AMOUR. By ^hn.^U Zola. 
Uniform with “ L’Assommoir.” Complete in one large square 
duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 
in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will be 
sent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Pvblishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 


T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS’ NEW BOOKS. 


Booksellers, News Agents, and all others in want of good and fast- 
selling books will please send in their orders at onoe. 


HENKY GREVILLE’S GREAT NOVELS. 

Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry OrivUle, author of “ Sonia/' “ Mar- 
rying Off a Daughter/' Saveli’s Expiation," ** Gabrielle,” etc. 
Philom^ne's Marriages. With Author’s Preface. By Henry OrivUle, 
author of “ Dosia," “ Marrying Off a Daughter," etc. 

Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Grivillef author of “Dosia," 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Sonia," “A Friend," etc. 

Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Griville, author of 
“Dosia,” “Saveli’s Expiation," “Sonia," etc. 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each. 

Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Qr5ville. 
Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Novel. By Henry Gr5ville. 

A Friend; or, “L’Apai.” By Henry Gr5ville, author of “Dosia." 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Gr5ville, author of “Dosia." 

Gabrielle; or. The House of Maur^ze. By Henry Gr5ville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT WORKS. 

L’Assommoir. By Emile Zola. The Greatest Novel ever printed. Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 

The Abb6’s Temptation. A Love Story. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

H5ISne. A Tale of Love, Passion and Remorse. By Emile Zola. Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

MRS. BURNETT’S LOVE STORIES. 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo." 
Miss Crespigny. A Charming Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen." 
Theo. A Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen," “ Miss Crespigny,” etc. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of “ Kathleen," “ Theo,” etc. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

Jarl’s Daughter and Other Tales. By Mrs. Burnett. Price 25 cents. 
Lindsay’s Luck. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Price 25 cents. 

MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S LOVE STORIES. 

Sybil Brotherton. A Novel. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

The Red Hill Tragedy. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 


1^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (A) 


T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, News Agents^ 
and all others in want of good and fast-selling books. .^1 


MRS, EMMA D. E. N. SOTJTHWORTH’S WORKS. 

Chmplete in forty^three large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back, 
price $1.75 each; or $75.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Phantom Wedding; or, The Fall of the House of Flint, $l 75 

Self-Raised ; From the Depths..$l 75 

Ishmael; or. In the Depths,.... 1 75 

The Mother-in-Law, 1 75 

The Fatal Secret, 1 75 

Hovr He Won Her, 1 75 

Fair Play, 1 75 

The Spectre Lover, 1 75 

Victor’s Triumph, 1 75 

A Beautiful Fiend, 1 75 

The Artist’s Love,., 1 75 

A Noble Lord, 1 75 

Lost Heir of Linlithgow, 1 75 

Tried for her Life, 1 75 

Cruel ns the Grave, 1 75 

The Maiden Widow, 1 75 

The Family Doom, 1 75 

The Bride’s Fate, 1 75 

The Changed Brides, 1 75 

Fallen Pride, I 75 

The Widow’s Son, 1 75 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 75 


The Fatal Marriage, 1 75 

The Deserted Wife, 1 75 

The Fortune Seeker, 1 75 

The Bridal Eve,. 1 75 

The Lost Heiress, 1 75 

The Two Sisters, 1 75 

Lady of the Isle, 1 75 

Prince of Darkness, 1 75 

The Three Beauties, 1 75 

Vivia; or the Secret of Power, 1 75 

Love’s Labor Won, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy, 1 75 

Retribution, 1 75 

The Christmas Guest, 1 75 

Haunted Homestead, 1 75 

Wife's Victory, 1 75 

All worth Abbey, 1 75 

India; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 75 

Curse of Clifton, 1 75 

Discarded Daughter, 1 75 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow,.. 1 75 


The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

Oreen and Gold Edition. Complete in twelve volumes, in green morocco cloth, 
price $1.75 each; or $21.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Ernest Linwood, $1 75 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 75 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 75 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 75 

Marcus Warland, I 75 


Love after Marriage, $1 75 

Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 75 

The Lost Daughter, 1 75 

The Banished Son, 1 75 

Helen and Arthur, 1 75 


Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 75 

Robert Graham; the Sequel to “Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 75 
Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (1) 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ WORKS. 

Compute in twenty-three large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back, 
price $1.75 each ; or $40.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Norston’s Rest, $1 75 

Bertha’s Engagement, 1 75 

Bellehood and Bondage, 1 75 

The Old Countess, 1 75 

Lord Hope’s Choice, 1 75 

The Reigning Belle, 1 75 

Palaces and Prisons, 1 75 

Married in Haste, 1 75 

Wives and Widows, 1 75 

Ruby Gray’s Strategy, 1 75 


The Soldiers’ Orphans, $1 75 

A Noble Woman, 1 75 

Silent Struggles, I 75 

The Rejected Wife, 1 75 

The Wife’s Secret, 1 75 

Mary Derwent, 1 75 

Fashion and Famine, 1 75 

The Cur.se of Gold, 1 75 

Mabel’s Mistake, 1 75 

The Old Homestead, 1 75 


Doubly False,.... 1 75 ] The Heires.s,.... 1 75 | The Gold Brick,... 1 75 
Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


MRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S WORKS. 

Complete in nine large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back, prici 
$1.75 each; or $15.75 a set, each set is put up in a neat bw. 


The Cardinal’s Daughter, $1 75 

Feme Fleming, 1 75 

The Household of Bouverie,.... 1 75 

A Double Wedding, 1 75 


Miriam’s Memoirs, $1 75 

Monfort Hall, 1 75 

Sea and Shore, 1 75 

Hester Howard’s Temptation,.. 1 75 


Lady Ernestine j or. The Absent Lord of Rocheforte, 1 75 


BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

Every housekeeper should possess at least one of the follonring Cook Books, as thef 
would save the price of it in a week's cooking. 

The Queen of the Kitchen. Containing 1007 Old Maryland 


‘ Family Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, $1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Cookery Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 75 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 75 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book Cloth, 1 75 

Mi.ss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 75 


The Family Save-All. By author of ^‘National Cook Book,” Cloth, .1 75 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook. With the most approved methods of 
French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty-two 
Illustrations. One volume of 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, 5 00 


1^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioc^ 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PTTBLICATIOHS. 3 


MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY’S WORKS. 

Complete in fourteen large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back, priot 
$1.7 6 each. ; or $24.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


A New Way to Win a Fortune $1 75 

The Discarded Wife, 1 75 

The Clandestine Marriage, 1 75 

The Hidden Sin,,..., 1 75 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 75 

All For Love, 1 75 


Why Did He Marry Her? $1 75 

Who Shall be Victor? 1 75 

The Mysterious Guest, 1 75 

Was He Guilty?.., 1 75 

The Cancelled Will, 1 75 

The Planter’s Daughter, 1 75 

Michael Rudolph, 1 75 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


DOESTICKS’ WORKS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $7.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Doesticks’ Letters, $l 75 [ The Elephant Club, $1 75 

Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1 75 1 Witches of New York, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


JAMES A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt hack, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.26 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Watchman, $1 75 

The Wanderer,.., 1 75 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 75 


Diary of an Old Doctor, $1 75 

Sartaroe, 1 75 

The Three Cousins 1 75 


The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


T, ADOLPHTTS TEOLLOPE’S WOEKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gill back, price $1.75 
each; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Sealed Packet, $1 75 I Dream Numbers, U $1 75 

Garstang Grange, 1 75|Beppo, the Conscript, 1 75 

J Leonora Casaloni,... 1 75 | Gemiua, 1 75 | Marietta,... .V^". 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


FEEDEIKA BEEMEE’S WOEKS. 

Complete ;n six large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gVt back, price $l.Tft each ; 
or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $1 75 I The Neighbors, $1 75 

The Four Sisters, 1 75 I The Home, .. 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 50 


Above Books will be sent postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pricey 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa, 


i T. B. PETERSOX & BROTHERS’ PT7B1ICATIOXS. 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 

Basil; or, The Crossed Path..$l 60 | The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 


The Dead Secret, 8vo 75 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path, 75 

Hide and Seek, 75 

After Dark, 75 


The Queen’s Revenge, 75 

Miss or Mrs? 50 

Mad Monkton, 50 

Sights a-Foot, 50 


The Stolen Mask, '25 [ The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,... 25 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

FRANK FORRESTER’S SPORTING BOOK. 

Frank Forrester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry Wil- 
liam Herbert. With Illustrations by Darley. Two vols., cloth,...$4 0# 


EMERSON BENNETT’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Border Rover, $1 75 I Bride of the Wilderness, $1 75 

Clara Moreland, 1 75 Ellen Norbury, I 75 

The Orphan’s Trials, I 75 I Kate Clarendon, 1 75 

Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 

GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $7.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Gambling Exposed, $1 75 i Reformed Gambler, $l 75 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 75 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

[hmplete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.5® 
each ; or $0.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 50 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth, 1 5(1 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

MISS BRABDON’S WORKS. 

Aurora Floyd, 75 I The Lawyer’s Secret, 25 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 1 00 ] For Better, For Worse, 75 


Above books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prio% 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 8 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

Count of Monte-Cristu, $1 50 i Memoirs of a Physician, $1 00 

Edmond Dantes, 76 Queen’s Necklace, 1 00 

The Three Guardsmen, 75 Si.'c Years Later, 1 00 

Twenty Years After, 76 Countess of Charny, 1 00 

Bragelonne, 75 Andrec de Taverney, 1 00 

The Chevalier, 1 00 

Forty-five Guardsmen, 1 00 

The Ii-on Hand, 1 00 


The Iron Mask,. 

Louise La Valliere, 

Diana of Meridor, 

Adventures of a Marquis, 
Love and Liberty, (l7y2-’93) 


The Conscript, ] 5 ) 

Countess of Monte-Cristo, 1 00 

50 


Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette, (La Dame Aux Camelias,) 1 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.76 each. 

The Mohicans of Paris, 75 

The Horrors of Paris, 75 

The Fallen Angel, 75 

Felina de Chambure, 75 

Sketches in France, 75 

Isabel of Bavaria 75 

Twin Lieutenants, 75 

Man with Five Wives, 75 


Annette ; or, Lady of Pearls,... 75 

George ; or. Isle of France, 50 

Madame De Chamblay 50 

The Black Tulip, 60 

The Corsican Brothers, 60 

The Count of Moret,... 50 

The Marriage Verdict, 50 

Buried Alive, 25 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 


Mysteries Court of London,. ...$1 00 

1 50 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 


Bose Foster,, 

Caroline of Brunswick,. 

Venetia Trelawney, 

Lord Saxondale, 

Count Christoval, 

Rosa Lambert, 

Wallace, the Hero of Scotland, 


Mary Price, $1 00 

Eustace Quentin, 1 00 

Joseph Wilmot., I 00 

Banker’s Daughter, 1 00 

Kenneth, 1 Oi 

The Rye-House Plot, 1 00 

The Necromancer,., 1 00 

The Gipsy Chief, 1 00 


The Mysteries of the Court of Naples, full of Illustrations 1 00 

Robert Bruce, the Hero-King of Scotland, full of Illustrations, 1 08 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,.. 75 

The Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Isabella Vincent, 75 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lascelles, - 75 

Duke of Marchmont, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 

The Soldier’s Wife, 75 

May Middleton, 75 


Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide,.... 75 

Discarded Queen, 75 

Life in Paris, 50 

The Countess and the Page,.... 75 

Edgar Montrose, 50 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Clifford and the Actress, 60 

Ciprina ; or, the Secrets, 50 


Abore books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail FriQ6| 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B. PETEESON & BEOTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES LEVER’S BEST WORKS. 

Arthur O’Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

Davenport Dunn, 75 

Horace Templeton, 75 

Kate O’Donoghue, 75 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrequer, 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Knight of Gwynne, 75 


Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition is in cloth at $2.U0 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 | St. Patrick’s Eve, 60 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50; or in cloth, 2 00 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year,” 75 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS. 


The Master of Greylands, $1 50 

Within the Maze, 1 60 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

Bessy Rane, 1 50 

George Canterbury’s Will, 1 60 

Verner’s Pride, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 60 


The Shadow of Ashlydyat, $1 

Squire Trevlyu’s Heir, 1 

Oswald Cray, 1 

Mildred Arkell, 1 

The Red Court Farm, 1 

Elster’s Folly, 1 50 

Saint Martin’s Eve, 1 60 


Roland Yorke. A Sequel to The Channings,” 1 60 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or. The Earl’s Heirs, 1 50 

The Castle’s Heir ; or. Lady Adelaide’s Oath, 1 60 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Edina; or. Missing Since Midnight, cloth, $1, paper cover......... 75 


The Mystery, 75 

Parkwater. Told in Twilight, 76 

The Lost Bank Note, 60 

The Lost Will, 60 

Orville College, 60 

Five Thousand a Year, 26 

The Diamond Bracelet, 25 

Clara Lake’s Dream, 26 

The Nobleman’s Wife, 25 

Frances Hildyard, 26 

Cyrilla Maude’s First Love,... 25 

My Cousin Caroline’s Wedding 25 


A Life’s Secret, 60 

The Haunted Tower 50 

The Runaway Match, 25 

Marty n Ware’s Temptation, 26 

The Dean of Denham, 25 

Foggy Night at Offord, 25 

William Allair, 25 

A Light and a Dark Christmas, 25 

The Smuggler’s Ghost 25 

Rupert Hall, 25 

My Husband’s First Love, 25 

Marrying Beneath Your Station 25 


EUGENE SUE’S GREAT WORKS. 


The Wandering Jew, $1 50 

The Mysteries of Paris, 1 60 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 

Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire, 


First Love, 

Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,. 
Man-of-War’s-Man, 


50 

60 

50 

60 

25 


Above Books ■will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Priee« 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS 7 


OCTAVE FEUILLET’S GREATEST WORKS. 

The Count de Camors. The Man of the Second Empire. By Octave 
Feuillet, author of “ The Amours of Phillippe.” Price 75 cents in 
paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

The Amours of Phillippe; or, Phillippe’s Love Affairs. By Octave 
Feuillet, author of “ The Count de Camors.” Price 60 cents in paper 
or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. ’ 

NEW BOOKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The Shadow of Hampton Mead. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” One large duodecimo 
volume, in morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

A Heart Twice Won; or. Second Love. A Love Story. By Mrs. Eliza- 
beth Van Loon, author of “The Shadow of Hampton Mead,” and in 
uniform style with it. Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican. With Illustra- 
tive Engravings of the scenes that took place between the Pope and 
Father Tom. Paper cover, 50 cents, cloth, black and gold, $1.00. 

WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following boohs are each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 

bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphceus, $1 75 

Married Beneath Him. By author of “ Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 75 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “Zaidee,” 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of “Pique,” “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

Self-Sacrifice. By author of “Margaret Maitland,” etc 1 75 

The Woman in Black. A Companion to the “Woman in White,”... 1 75 
Bose Douglas. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and “Self Sacrifice,” 1 75 
Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and “Pique,”... 1 75 

Popery Exposed. An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, 1 75 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “Linda,” 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” 1 76 

Woodburn Grange. A Novel. By William Howitt, 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 

The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 75 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 

High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


b@“MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S new book. -©8 


SELF-MADE 

OR, OUT OF THE DEPTHS, 

Js now Complete in Sooh Form, in Two Volumes, Frice $1.75 each, or 
$3.50 a set, and is issued under the names of 

“ISHMAEL!” AND “SELF-EASED.” 


MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S COMPLETE WORKS. 

Cmnplete in forty-three volumes, bound in morocco cloth, with a full gilt back, price 
$l.7o each; or $76.25 a set, each set in a neat box. The following are their names: 

Ishmael ; or, In the Depths— being “ Self-Made.” 

Self-Raised; or. Prom the Depths, sequel to “Ishmael.” 

Mrs. Southworth’s “ Mother-in-Law; or. Married in Haste.” 

The Phantom Wedding; or. The Pall of the House of Plint. 


The Patal Secret. 
Cruel as the Grave. 
Tried Por Her Life. 
Pair Play. 

The Lost Heiress. 
How He Won Her. 
The Maiden Widow. 
Victor’s Triumph. 
The Pamily Doom. 

A Beautiful Piend. 
The Bride’s Pate. 
Bride of Llewellyn. 
The Changed Brides. 
The Spectre Lover. 
Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Pallen Pride. 

The Portune Seeker. 
Retribution. 

The Bridal Eve. 


The Patal Marriage. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

The Deserted Wife. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

Lost Heir Linlithgow. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; Secret of Power. 

The Artist’s Love. 

Allworth Abbey. 

The Two Sisters. 

Discarded Daughter. 

The Widow’s Son. 

Wife’s Victory. 

The Missing Bride. 

Lady of the Isle. 

The Haunted Homestead. 
The Curse of Clifton. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 
Mystery of Dark Hollow. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent ts 
viy one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T» B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa, 

41 


MRS. BURNETT'S CHARMING STORIES. 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AO PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia. 

B£PRIXT£D FROM “PETERSON’S MAGAZINE,” FOR WHICRE 
THEY WERE AEE ORIGINAEEY WRITTEN. 


The following Charming Stories were all written hy Mrs, Frances, 
Hodgson Burnett, and each one is printed on tinted paper, the whole being 
issued in uniform shape and style, in square 12mo. form, being seven of 
the best, most interesting, and choicest love stories ever written. 


“THEO.” A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
author of ^‘Kathleen,” “Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “Miss 
Crespigny,” “A Quiet Life,” and “ Lindsay’s Luck.” 

KATHLEEN. A TiOve Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Bur- 
nett, author of “ Theo,” “ Miss Crespigny,” “Jarl’s Daughter,” 
“A Quiet Life,” and “ Pretty Polly Pemberton.” 

A QUIET LIFE; and THE TIDE ON THE MOANING 
BAR. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo.” 

MISS CRESPIGNY. A Powerful Love Story. By Mrs. Frances 
Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” etc. 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON, A Charming Love Story. 
By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Kathleen.” 

Above are 50 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth, black and gold. 

JARL’S DAUGHTER; and OTHER STORIES. By Mrs. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” etc. 

LINDSAY’S LUCK. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson 
Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” “A Quiet Life,” etc. 

Above are each in one volume, paper cover, price 25 Cents each. 

an 

Above Boohs are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or 
copies of any one or all of them, will be sent to any place, at once, per 
mail, post-paid, on remittmg price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 


PETERSONS’ ‘STERLING SERIES' 

OF NEW AND GOOD BOOKS. 

Are the Cheapest Novels in the World. 

Price 75 Cents Each in Paper, or $1.00 Each in Cloth. 


“PETERSONS’ STERLING SERIES OF NEW AND GOOD 
BOOKS” are all issued unabridged and entire, in unifciriu style, and are printed from 
large type, in octavo form, price Seventy-five cents each in paper cover, vvith the edge* 
cut open all around ; or One Dollar each, bound in morocco cloth, black and gold, and 
is the most popular series of Books ever printed. The follow ing works have already 
bean issued in this series, and a new one will follow every two weeks in the same style, 
same size, and at the same low' price. 

SALATHIEL; THE WANDERING 4EW. By Rev. George Croly. 
AURORA FLOYD. A Love Story. By Miss Braddon. 

MARRYING FOR MONEY. A Love Story in Real Life. 
THACKERAY’S IRISH SKETCH BOOK. With 38 Illustrations. 
EDINA. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 

CORINNE; OR, ITALY. By Madame De Stael. 

CYRILLA. A Love Story. By author of “ the Initials,” 
FLIRTATIONS IN AMERICA; or, HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK- 
THE COQUETTE. A Tale of Love and Pride. 

CHARLES O’MALLEY, The Irish Dragoon. By Charles Leven 
THE FLIRT. By author of “The Gambler’s Wife,'» 

THE DEAD SECRET. By Wilkie Collins. 

THE WIFE’S TRIALS. By Miss Pardoe. 

THE MAN WITH FIVE WIVES. By Alexander Dum«s, 

HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever. 

PICKWICK ABROAD. Illustrated. By G. W. M. Reynolds. 
FIRST AND TRUE LOVE. By George Sand. 

THE MYSTERY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 

THE STEWARD. By author of “Valentine Vox.” 

BASIL; or, THE CROSSED PATH. By Wilkie Collins. 
POPPING THE QUESTION. By author of “The Jilt.” 

THE JEALOUS WIFE. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

SYLVESTER SOUND. By author of “Valentine Vox.” 

THE CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 

THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. By Miss Pardoe. 

WHITEFRIARS; Or, The Days of Charles the Second. 
WEBSTER AND HAYNE’S SPEECHES. Unabridged. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies laill be sent to 
any one, to anyplace, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

300 Cliestniit St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


30 


PETERSONS’ “DOLLAR SERIES” 

OP GOOD NOVELS, ARE THE BEST, LARGEST, 
AND CHEAPEST BOOHS IN THE WORLD. 

Trice One Dollar Each, in Cloth, Black and Gold^ 
A WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss Mulock. 
THE LOVER’S TRIALS. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 

THE PRIDE OF LIFE. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 

THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW. By Mrs. Percy B. Shelley. 

CORA BELMONT ; or, The Sincere Lover. 

TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY; or, Is It Love, or. False Pride? 
LOST SIR MASSINGBERD. Janies Payn’s Best Book. 

THE OLYFFARDS OF OLYFFE. By James Payn. 

MY SON’S WIFE. By the Author of "Caste.” 

THE RIVAL BELLES ; or, Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones. 
THE REFUGEE. By the author of “Omoo,” “Typee,” etc. 

OUT OF THE DEPTHS. The Story of a Woman’s Life. 

THE MATCHMAKER. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. 
AUNT PATTY’S SCRAP BAG. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 
THE STORY OF “ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray. 
FLIRTATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catharine Sinclair. 
THE HEIRESS IN THE FAMILY. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniels. 
LOVE AND DUTY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Hubbaok. 

THE COQUETTE; or, The Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton. 
SELF-LOVE. A Book for Young Ladies and for Women. 

THE DEVOTED BRIDE. By St. George Tucker, of Virginia. 

THE MAN OF THE WORLD. By William North. 

THE RECTOR’S WIFE ; or, The Valley of a Hundred Fires. 

THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE; or. The Price of a Crown. 

COUNTRY QUARTERS. By the Countess of Blessington. 

THE CAVALIER. A Novel. By G. P. R. James. 

SARATOGA ! AND THE FAMOUS SPRINGS. A Love Story. 
COLLEY CIBBER’S LIFE OF EDWIN FORREST, with Portrait. 
WOMAN’S WRONG. A Book for Women. By Mrs. Eiloart. 
HAREM LIFE IN EGYPT AND CONSTANTINOPLE. 

THE OLD PATROON ; or. The Great Van Broek Property. 

THE MAODERMOTS OF BALLYOLORAN. By Anthony Trollope. 
A LONELY LIFE. TREASON AT HOME. PANOLA! 

J^^For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, and published by 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philaaelphia. 


The following New Books are printed on tinted paper, and ere issued in uniform 
style, in square \2mo. form. Price Fifty Cents each in Paper Cover, or One Pollar each 
in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. They are the most charming Novels ever printed. 


EATHLEEIf. A Love Story. By 3Irs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of 
“ Theo/' “ Miss Crespigny,” and “ Pretty Polly Pemberton, ’’ etc. 

“ THEO.” A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Kath- 
leen,’' “ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “ Miss Crespigny,” “A Quiet Life,” etc. 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. A Powerful Love Story. By 3frs. Frances Hodg- 
son Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” and “ Miss Crespigny.” 

MISS CRESPIGNY. A Charming Love Story. By 3Irs. Frances Hodgson Bur- 
nett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” “ J arl’s Daughter,” and “ A Quiet Life.” 

A QUIET LIFE. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kath- 
leen,” “ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “ Miss Crespigny,” “ Jarl’s Daughter,” etc. 

A FRIEND; or, L’AMI. (?r^vt7/e, author of “ Sonia,” “ Saveli’s Expia- 

tion,” and “ Marrying Otf a Daughter.” Translated by Miss Helen Stanley. 

SONIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “ Marrying Off a 
Daughter,” “ Sav41i’s Expiation,” “ Gabrielle.” Translated by 3Iary Neal Sherwood. 

SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville. A dramatic and powerful novel of 
Russian life, and a })ure, pathetic love story. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

GABRIELLE; or, THE HOUSE OF MAUREZE. By Henry Greville, author of 
‘'Saveli’s Expiation,” “Dosia,” “Marrying Off a Daughter,” etc. 

A WOMAN’S MISTAKE; or, JACQUES DE TREVANNES. A Charming Love 
Story. From the French of Madame Anglle Dussaud, by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

MADAME POMPADOUR’S GARTER; or, THE DAYS OF MADAME POMPA- 
DOUR. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. By Gabrielle Be St. Andre. 

THE MATCHMAKER. A Charming Novel. By Beatrice Beynolds. All the 
characters and scenes in it have all the freshness of life, and all the vitality of truth. 

TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY ; or, IS IT LOVE ? or, FALSE PRIDE. A book; 
for Ladies and Gentlemen; for Parents, and for all those contemplating Matrimony. 

THAT GIRL OF MINE. A Love Story. By the author of *^That Lover of Mined* 
It is one of the most brilliant novels of Washington City society ever issued. 

THE RED HILL TRAGEDY. A Novel. By Airs. Emma D. E. N, Southworth, 
author of “Ishmael,” “Self-Raised,” “The Mother-in-Law,” etc. 

THE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE. A History of “ Phillippe’s Love Affaies.” 
By Octave Feuillet, author of “ The Count de Camors, the Man of the Second Empire.” 

BESSIE’S SIX LOVERS. A Charming Love Story, of the purest and best kind. 

THAT LOVER OF MINE. A Love Story. By author of “7V<a« Girl of Aline.** 

STORY OF “ ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 

Above Books are 50 Cents each in Paper Cover, or $1.00 each in Cloth, 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, ar copies of an^ 
$ne or more, will be sent to any place, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa. 


NEW AND POPULAR BOOKS 

BY THE BEST AUTHORS, FOE SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PHILADELPHIA. 


FHILOMENE’S MABBIAGES. With a Preface by the Aiithor. By Henry Gr^ 
ville, author of “ Dosia.” Price 76 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PBETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry GrtviUe, author of “ Dosia,” and 
“Saveli’s Expiation,” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

JABL’S DAUGHTER; AND OTHEB TALES. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett ^ 
author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” and “ Miss Crespiguy.” Paper cover, price 25 cents. 

LINDSAY’S LUCK. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of 
“ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” and “Pretty Polly Pemberton.” Paper cover, price 25 cents. 

FATHER TOM AND THE POPE; or, A.NIGHT AT THE VATICAN. With Illus- 
trations of scenes between the Pope and Father Tom. Paper, 60 cents, cloth, $1,00. 

THE COUNT DE CAMORS. The Man of the Second Empire. By Octave Feuillet, 
author of “Amours of Phillippe.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

SYBIL BBOTHEBTON. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, author of “Ishmael,” 
“Self- Raised,” etc. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION. A Love Story. By Emile Zola, author of “ II616ne.” 
Ilis Greatest Work. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

THE SWAMP DOCTOR’S ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH-WEST. With Fourteen 
Illustrations by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

THE SHADOW OF HAMPTON MEAD. A Charming Story. By Elizabeth Fan 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, black and goldf. Price $1.50. 

A HEART TWICE WON; or, SECOND LOVE. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van Loon, 
author of “The Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

HELENE. A Tale of Love, Passion and Remorse. By Emile Zola, author of “ The 
Abba’s Temptation.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MADELEINE. A Charming Love Story. By Jules Sandeau. Crowned by the 
French Academy. Uniform with “ Dosia.” Paper cover. Price 50 cents. 

DOSI A. A Russian Story. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “ Marrying OIF a Daughter,” 
‘‘Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. A Love Story. By Henry Grtville, author of 
“ Dosia,” and “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

CARMEN. By Prosper M'erimee, from which the opera of “ Carmen ” was drama' 
iized. Uniform with ‘‘Kathleen,” etc. Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

COLONEL THORPE’S SCENES IN ARKANSAW. With Sixteen Illustrations, 
from Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

FANCHON, THE CRICKET; or, LA PETITE FADETTE. By George Sand. Thit 
is the original work from which the play of “Fanchon, the Cricket,’' as presented on 
the stage, was dramatized. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition, in a larger 
duodecimo volume, bound in morocco cloth, black and gold, price $1.50. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any 
07 ie or more, will be sent to any place, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa- 



NEW AND BEAUTIFUL EDITIONS, JUST READY. 


Each Work in this Series is Unabridged and Complete. 


FANCHOK, THE CRICKET; or, ‘‘LA PETITE FADETTEP By Geo RGB 
Sand. The Play of “Fanchon, the Cricket,” as acted on the stage, was 
dramatized from this hook. Translated from the French. One volume, duo- 
decimo. Fine edition, in vellum, gilt and black, price $1.60; or a cheaper 
edition, in square 12mo. form, uniform with “Kathleen,” “Theo,” etc., in 
paper cover, price Fifty Cents, 

CONSUELO. A Novel. By George Sand. Translated from the French, by 
Fayette Robinson. One volume, duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. A cheaper 
edition is also published iu one large octavo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents. 

THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT. A Sequel to “Consuelo.” By George 
Sand. Translated from the French, by Fayette Robinson. One volume, 
duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. A cheaper edition is also published in 
one large octavo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents. 

INDIANA, A Love Story. By George Sand. With a Life of Madame Dudevant, 
(George Sand,) and translated from the French, by George W. Richards. One 
volume, duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. 

JEALOUSY ; or, TEVERINO. By George Sand. With a Biography of the 
Distinguished Authoress, and translated from the French, by Oliver S. Leland. 
One volume, duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. 

FIRST AND TRUE LOVE. By George Sand. Translated from the French. 
With Eleven Illustrative Engravings, including Portraits of “ Monsieur An- 
toine,” “ Gilberte de Chateaubrun,” “ Mademoiselle Janille,” “ Emile Cardon- 
net,” “Jean Jappeloup, the Carpenter,” and “ Monsieur and Madame Cardon- 
net.” One volume, octavo. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

SIMON. A Love Story. By George Sand. Translated from the French. One 
volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 

THE LAST ALDINI. A Love Story. By George Sand. Translated from tbe 
French. One volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 

THE CORSAIR. A Venetian Tale. By George Sand. Translated from the 
French. One volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 

lULM ■ 


1 ^* Above Boohs are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will ke 
pent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

30G Cliestuut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


67 


Mrs. Southworth’s Works. 

EACH IS IN ONE BARGE DUODECIMO VOLUME, MOROCCO CLOTH, GILT BACK, PRICE $1.76 EACH. 
All or any will be sent free of postage, everywhere, to all, on receipt of remittances. 


ISHMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS. (Being “Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.”) 
SELF-RAISED; or, From the Depths. The Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 

THE PHANTOM WEDDING; or, the Fall of the House of Flint. 

THE “MOTHER-IN-LAW;” or, MARRIED IN HASTE. 

THE MISSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

VICTOR’S TRIUMPH. The Sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend.” 

A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 

THE LADY OF THE ISLE; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. 

FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, THE MAN-HATER. 

HOW HE WON HER. The Sequel to “Fair Play.” 

THE CHANGED BRIDES ; or. Winning Her Way. 

THE BRIDE’S FATE. The Sequel to “The Changed Brides.” 
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or. Hallow Eve Mystery. 

TRIED FOR HER LIFE. The Sequel to “ Cruel as the Grave.” 

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or. The Crime and the Curse. 


THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or, The Brothers. 

A NOBLE LORD. The Sequel to “The Lost Heir of Linlithgow.” 
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 

THE MAIDEN WIDOW. The Sequel to “The Family Doom.” 

THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or. The Bride of an Evening. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or. The Children of the Isle. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS ; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 


INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. 

THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 
THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA.' 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVIA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 
THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 


THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. 

THE WIFE’S VICTORY. 
THE SPECTRE LOVER. 

THE ARTIST’S LOVE. 
THE FATAL SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 


BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


THE DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION 


Mrs. Southworth’s works will he found for sale hy all Booksellers. 

Copies of any one, or more of Mrs. Southworth’s works, will be sent to any 
place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting jor ice of ones wanted to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSOX & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Father Tom and the Pope 

OB, 

A MET AT THE VATICAN. 


With Illustrative Engravings of the scenes that took place 
there, between the Pope and the Priest, Father Tom. 


JRead what S. «7. Prime, Esq., the Editor of the New Torh Christian Observer, aaya 
of **Father Tom and the Popef^ in that paper, editorially, 

“FATHER TOM AND THE POPE. —There is a time to laugh. And we 
had it when we read this book, with the taking title of ‘Father Tom and the 
Pope.’ It is a broad satire on the faith and practice of Mother Rome : too broad 
perhaps for this country, where the Irish brogue, Irish humor, and Irish technical 
terms are not as readily caught as they are in the green isle for which the book was 
written. 

“ Father Tom goes to Rome ; he is a Romish Priest from Ireland, and in Rome, 
his Holiness invites the celebrated champion of the Church to take ‘ pot look wid 
him.’ At the table the Pope offers him various kinds of wine, but Father Tom, 
more accustomed to something stronger and warmer, complains of the drink, and 
greatly to the disgust of the Pope produces a bottle of the ‘rale stuff’ from his coat 
pocket. His Holiness rebukes him for bringing his own liquor when coming to 
dine with the prince of princes, but catching a whiff of the whiskey across the 
table, asks for the bottle, brings it to his blessed nose, and exclaims, ‘Holy Virgin 1 
but it has the divine smell I’ 

“After this the Pope and Father Tom have a good time generally ; the Priest 
produces another bottle from another pocket ; calls for the housekeeper to bring the 
‘matarials’ to brew a punch ; she comes ; a comely damsel ; and then occurs a scene 
that introduces as keen a satire on one of the dogmas of Rome as was ever made, 
for the particulars of which we advise all persons to buy and read the book.” 

Price 50 Cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in Morocco cloth, black and gold. 

“Father Tom and the Pope,^* will be found for sale by all Booksellers, and on 
all Bail-Boad Trains, or copies of it will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, post- 
paid, on remitting the price of the edition wished, in a letter, to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

Wo. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 

NEW AND BEAUTIFUL EDITIONS, JUST READY. 

Each Work is complete and unabridged, in one large volume. 

All or any will be sent free of postage, everywhere, to all, on receipt of remittances. 

Mysteries of the Court of liondon; being THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF 
GEORGE THE THIRD, wilh the Life and YYmes o/ </je PRINCE OF WALES, a/ierivard GEORGE 
THE FOURTH. Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Rose Foster; or, the “ Second Series of the Mysteries of the Court of London.” Complete in one 
large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.50. 

Caroline of Brunswick; or, the “ Third Series of the Mysteries of the Court of London.” 
Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, jirice $1.(J0. 

Venetia Trelawney ; beingthe *• Fourth Seriesor final conclusion of the Mysteries of theCourt 
of Ijondon.” Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

liOrd Saxondale; or. The Court of Queen Victoria. Complete in one largo volume, bound in 
cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Count Christoval. The “Sequel to Lord Saxondale.” Complete in one large volume, bound 
in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Rosa I,ambert; or. The Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. Complete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Joseph Wilmot; or. The Memoirs of a Man Servant. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Banker’s l>ang;hter. A Sequel to “ Joseph Wilmot.” Complete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Bye-Mouse I*Iot; or, Ruth, the Conspirator’s Daughter. Complete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Necromancer. Being the Mysteries of the Court of Henry the Eighth. Complete in 
one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.0o. 

Mary Price; or. The Adventures of a Servant Maid. One vol., cloth, price $1.75; or in paper. $1 00. 
Eustace Q,uentin. A “Sequel to Mary Price.” One vol., cloth, price $1.75; or in paper, $1.00. 
The Mysteries of the Court of Naples. Price $1.00 in papr cover; or $1.75 in cloth. 
Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. One vol., cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, $1.00. 
Wallace: the Hero of Scotland. Illustrated with 38 plates. Paper, $1.00; cloth, $1.75. 
The Gipsy Chief. Beautifully Illustrated. Price $1.00 in paper cover, or $1.76 in cloth. 
Robert Bruce; the Hero Kins of Scotland. Illustrated. Paper, $1.00; cloth. $1.76, 
The Opera Bancer ; or. The Mysteries of London Life. Price 75 cents. 

Isabella Vincent; or. The Two Orphans. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 
Vivian Bertram ; or, A Wife’s Honor. A Sequel to “Isabella Vincent.” Price 75 cents. 
The Countess of I^ascelles. The Continuation to “Vivian Bertram.” Price 75 cents. 
Duke of Marchmont. Being the Conclusion of “ The Countess of Lascelles.” Price 75 cenUb 
The Child of Waterloo; or. The Horrors of the Battle Field. Price 75 cents. 

Pickwick Abroa«i. A Companion to the “ Pickwick Papers,” by “ Boz.” Price 76 cents. 
The Countess and the Pagre. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Mary Stuart, Queeai of Scots. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price 76 cents. 
The Soldier’s Wife. Illu:<trated. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

May Middleton ; or. The History of a Fortune. In one largo octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 
The lioves of the Harem. One large octavo volume. Price 76 cents. 

Bllen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress. One large octavo volume. Price 76 cents. 

The Discarded Q,ueen. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Allfues Evelyn : or. Beauty and Pleasure. One large octavo vt hime. Price 75 cents. 

The Massacre of Olencoe. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

The Parricide; or. Youth’s Career in Crime. Beautifully Illustrated. Price 75 cents, 
llinrina; or. The Secrets of a Picture Gallery. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
The Ruined Gamester. With Illustrations. One large octavo volume. Price 60 cents. 
I.ife in Paris. Handsomely illustrated. One large ocUvo volume. Price 50 cents. 

Clifford and the Actress. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

Ed^ar Mojitrose. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

j^S^The above works will be found for sale by all Booksellers and Netos Agents. 

Copies of any one, or more, or all of Reynolds' works, will be sent to any place^ 
atmee, post-paid, on remitting price of ones wanted to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEIISON & BKOTHEKS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ GREAT WDRKS. 

All or any will be sent free of postage, eyerywhere, to all, on receipt of remittances. 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. With elegant illustrations, and portraits of Edmond Dantes, 
Mercedes, and Fernand. Price $1.50 in paper cover ; or $1.75 in cloth. 

Edmond Dantes, A Sequel to the “Count of Monte-Cristo.” In one large octavo volume. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition, bound in cloth, for $1.75. 

The Countess of Monte-Cristo. With a portrait of the “Countess of Monte-Cristo ” on 
the cover. One large octavo volume, paper cover, price $1.00 ; or bound in cloth, for $1.75. 

The Three Ouardsmen; or. The Three Monsquetaires, In one large octavo 
volume. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition in cloth, for $1.75. 

Twenty Years After. A Sequel to the “ Three Guardsmen.” In one large octavo volume. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition, in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

Brag^eloune; the Son of Athos. Being the continuation of “ Twenty Years After.” In 
one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition in cloth, for $1.75. 

The Iron Mask. Being the continuation of the “Three Guardsmen,” “Twenty Years After,” 
and “ Bragelonne.” In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00 ; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

IjOUise Ea ValBiere; or, the Second Series of the “Iron Mask,” and end of “The Three 
Guardsmen ” series. In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

The Memoirs of a Physician ; or. The Secret History of the Court of Louis the Fifteenth. 
Beautifully Illustrated. In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00 ; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

The Q,neen’s Yecklacej or. The “Second Series of the Memoirs of a Physician.” In one 
large octavo volume. Paper cover, price $1.00 ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

Six Years Eater; or. Taking of the Bastile. Being the “Third Series of the Memoirs of a 
Physician.” In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00 ; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

Countess of Charny ; or. The Fall of the French Monarchy. Being the “Fourth Series of 
the Memoirs of a Physician.” In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

Andree de Taverney. Being the “ Fifth Series of the Memoirs of a Physician.” In one 
large octavo volume. Paper cover, price $1.00; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

The Chevalier; or, the “Sixth Series and final conclusion of the Memoirs of a Physician 
Series.” In one large octavo volume. Price $1.00 in paper cover ; or $1;75 in cloth. 

Joseph Balsamo. Dumas’ greatest work, from which the play of “Joseph Balsamo” was 
dramatized, by his son, Alexander Dumas, Jr. Price $1.00 in paper cover, or $1.50 in cloth. 

The Conscript; or. The Days of the First Xapoleon. An Historical Novel. In 
one large duodecimo volume. Price $1.50 in paper cover; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette. (“ La Dame aux Camelias.”) This is the only 
true and complete translation of “ Camille,” and it is from this translation that the Play of “Camille,” 
and the Opera of “ La Traviata” was adapted to the Stage. Paper cover, price $1.50 ; or in cloth, $1.75, 

Eove and Eiberty ; or, A Man of the People. (Bene Besson.) A Thrilling Story 
of the French Revolution of 1792-93. In one large duodecimo volume, paper cover, $1.50; cloth, $1.76. 

The Adventures of a Marquis. Paper cover, $1.00; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

The Forty-Five Guardsmen. Paper cover, $1.00; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

Diana of Meridor. Paper cover, $1.00; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

The Iron Hand. Price $1.00 in paper cover, or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

Isabel of Bavaria, <^,ueen of France. In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Annette; or. The Eady of the Pearls. A Companion to “Camille.” Price 75 centst 

The Fallen Angl’d. A Story of Love and Life in Paris. One large volume. Price 75 cents. 

The Mohicans of Paris. In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

The Horrors of Paris, In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. > 

The Man with Five Wives. In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Sketches in France. In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Felinade Chambure; or. The Female Fiend. Price 75 cents. 

The Twin Eieutenants; or, The Soldier’s Bride. Price 75 cents. 

Madame de Chamblay. In one large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

The Black Tulip. In one large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

The Gorsican Brothers. In one large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

Georgre; or. The Planter of the Isle of France. Price 50 cents. 

The Fount of Moret. In one large octavo volume. Price 60 cents. 

The Marriagro Verdict. In one large octavo volume. Price 60 cents. 

Buried Alive. In one large octavo volume. Price 25 cents. 

Above books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any 
one or more, will be sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Henry Greville’s Last Novel. 


BONNE-MARIE. 

A Tale of Normandy and Paris. 

BY HBNRY GRBVIZ^LiK. 

AUTHOR OF “DOSIA,” “MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER,” “SAVELl’S EXPIATION,” 
“PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES,” “ SONIA,” “ GABRIELLE,” ETC. 

TEANSLATED PEOM THE EEEHOH BY MAEY NEAL SHEEWOOD. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

The publishers of Henry Gr6ville’s novels, T. B. Peterson & Brothers, deserve im- 
mense credit for their exertions in making the American public familiar with the very 
best French literature, and we wish them all possible success in their enterprise. — Critic. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S GREAT NOVELS. 

BONNE-MARIE. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville, author of 
“ Saveli’s Expiation ” and “ Dosia.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

DOSIA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Marrying Off a 
Daughter,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMilNE’S MARRIAGES. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “Dosia,” 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Save- 
li’s Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville. A dramatic and powerful novel of 
Russian life, and a pure, pathetic love story. Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

SONIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

A FRIEND; or, L’AMIE. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

GABRIELLE; or. THE HOUSE OF MAUREZE. By Henry Gr'eville, author of 
“ Dosia,” “ A Friend,” “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

The above Books are 'printed on tinted paper, and are issued in uniform stylt 
with ^^Theo,” “Kathleen,’^ ‘‘3fiss Ckespigny,'^ Quiet Life,'' ‘^Lindsay's Luck," and 
Pretty Polly Pemberton," by 3frs. Burnett, and are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies 
will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


r 

llmile Zola’s Great Sook* 


A ImOuk bfisobe:. 

(UNE PAGE D’AMOUR) 

BY BlMCZlLiE: ZOILi^. 

AUTHOR OF L’ASSOMMOIR,” ETC., ETC. 

TEANSLATED PEOM THE PEENOH BY MAET HEAL SHEEWOOD. 


“Emile Zola” is the greatest author in France at the present day. His novel, 
“ L’Assoinmoir,” published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, has already 
had a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies, and “ Hel6ne,” which is 
extremely interesting — indeed, exciting — lately issued there, has already passed into 
its forty-eighth edition. One of the most noted literary editors in New York wrote 
as follows to Mrs. Sherwood : “ I have just finished reading, and return to you 
mail, your advance copy of ‘Zola’s’ extraordinary book, ‘ HElene.’ It is admi- 
rably written, and is full of powerful and life-like delineations of character, and in 
this respect surpasses any of his preceding publications, and you, with your skill, 
will have no difficulty in rendering it into pure English. Bjr all means translate it at 
once, and your publishers will have the honor of introducing the cleverest book as 
well as a new and the greatest writer of the day to the American public.” And in a 
letter just received by Mrs. Sherwood from one of the most celebrated critics in 
Paris, he says: “ Why do you not translate ‘ ZoLA’s’ new book, ‘ Helene,’ at once? 
It is the great sensation over here. The book is admirably written by a truly great 
artist, with a powerful realism and absorbing interest, and would be a splendid card 
for you to play, and would prove to be a great success in America. The characters 
and scenes of the story are well conceived and well executed, and it is impossible to 
deny the author’s great skill, and every reader will acknowledge ‘Zola’s’ great power 
in ‘ HelEne.’ Besides the story, there are many pages devoted to rapturous descrip- 
tions of Paris at sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. Zola has made his name 
famous, and he will find plenty of readers for all he writes. His name alone will 
make any book sell.” 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


The above book is -printed on tinted paper ^ and is issued in square 12wo. 
form^ in uniform shape xoith ^^Theof’ Kathleen, ^^Miss Crespiqny,^' Quiet Life, 
and ^‘Pretty Polly Pembertonf^ by Mrs. Burnett, and is for sale by all Booksellci's, or 
copies will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remittiny price to the Publishet s, 

T. B. PETERSOX & BROTHERS, 

30G Chestnut Street, Philatlelpliia, Pa* 


62 


liixoile Zola’s Great 'W'orksI 


THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION. 

(LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET.) 

A. LOVE STOEY. 

BY ZQTmA. 

AUTHOR OF “ L’ASSOMMOIB,” HfilJlNE,” ETC., ETC. 

TEANSLATED PEOM THE EBEHOH BY JOHH STIELIHG. 

** * The Abba’s Temptation,’ ” by Emile Zola, writes one of the most noted literart 
editors in New York, to John Stirling, the translator, “ is the sweetest love story 1 
ever read, and is a great book, for there is much in the work that is lovely and pathetic. 
It is a work of marvellous ability, not immoral in any sense, while it teaches a lesson. 
The Abb6 Mouret, brother of Hel6ne, who serves to point the moral in Zola’s previous 
work, entitled, ‘ Heldne, a Love Episode,’ is the Cur4 of a poor village whose inhabitants 
are steeped in all the degradation of peasant life. In the Abb6 is developed the devo- 
tional spirit of his mother. Innocent of all guile, uncomfortable and blushing at the 
confessions of his female parishioners ; devoted to the worship of the Virgin Mary, he, 
with his half-witted sister, lives a life of purity and happiness, until his mind is 
unbalanced by the suggestions of a zealot, and by the constant straiu on both mind 
and body, caused by his incessant vigils. To save his life, his uncle. Dr. Pascal, takes 
him to a deserted villa, and confides him to the care of a half-wild niece of the man 
in charge. Gradually his reason is restored ; and with returning reason comes health, 
strength and love. His fault no one can condemn but himself. In his own hard, 
unflinching style, Zola dissects the vices of the peasantry, the salacious nature of the 
zealot, and the animal instincts of his sister ; but when he depicts the innocent love 
and purity of the unhappy Abb6, as he wanders through the tangled paths of Paradou, 
his nature seems altogether changed, and one can scarce believe that he, who wrote 
‘ L’Assommoir,’ can be the author of this sweet, pathetic, and charming love story.” 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


EMILE ZOLA’S OTHER WORKS. 

L’ ASSOMMOIB. By ^ile Zola, author of “ The Abba’s Temptation,” H416ne,” 
etc. Price 76 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

or, UNE PAGE D’ AMOUR. By J^mile Zola, of ^‘UA.sQommoir” 

“ The Abba’s Temptation,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

Above Books are for sale by aU Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will be 
sent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

71 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa. 


Emile Zola’s G-reatest ork ! 

OVER 100,000 COPIES SOLD IN FRANCE. 

L’ASSOMMOIRI 

^ OSTO-VEXj. 

AUTHOR OF “ THE TEMPTATION,” “ H^IL^NE,” ETC. 

TEAUSLATED TEOM THE EEEHOH BY JOHN STIELIHG. 

“ L’Assommoir ” is one of the greatest novels ever printed, and has already attained 
a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. It will be found to be one 
of the most extraordinary works ever written, full of nature and of art, dramatic, nar- 
rative, and pictorial. In it, vice is never made attractive, but “ Zola” paints it in all 
its hideous reality, so that it may tend to a moral end, for in it he unquestionably calls 
“ a spade a spade.” As a picture of woe and degradation springing from drunkenness, 
“ L’Assoramoir ” is without a rival. Zola has attained a measure of success scarcely 
paralleled in our generation, and his themes and his style — his aims, methods, and 
performances provoke the widest attention and the liveliest discussions throughout the 
whole of Europe. This translation of “ L’ Assommoir,” from French into English, has 
been done in the most able and satisfactory manner by Mr. John Stirling, with great 
tact, delicacy and refinement. 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


EMILE ZOLA’S OTHER WORKS. 


THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA FAUTE BE L’ABBE MOURET. By 

Zola, author of “ L’ Assommoir,” “ H4l6ne,” etc. Price 75 cts. in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

HELENE; or, TINE PAGE D’ AMOUR, author of “ L’ Assommoir,” 

“ The Abba’s Temptation,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will be 
sent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


•9 0^ Od CO 


‘•It is worth double its price.”— 0«atoa, (Cbmada), Advertiser. 


^ CHIEA-F ESI? ■A.^T X) BEST!"©* ’ 

FETEBSOl’S MAOAZIM 

«®“FULL"SIZE PAPER PATTERNS!"©® 


JB^S^ A Supplement will he given in every number for 1879, containin'/ a full-size pattern sheet for a 
lady's, or child's dress. Every subscriber will receive, during the year, twelve of these patterns, so that these 
a 'one will be worth more than the subscription price. Great improvements will also be made in other re- 
spects.'i^ 


“Peterson’s Magazine” contains, every year, 1000 pages, 14 steel plates, 12 colored Berlin patterns, 
12 manimotli colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and about 9G0 wood cuts. Its principal embel- 
lishments are 

SUPERB STEEL ENGRAVINGS ! 

Its immense circulation enables its proprietor to spend more on embellishments, stories, Ac. than 
any other. It gives more for the money, and combines more merits, than any in the world. Its 


TMEI'LiU-ra-© TAMS Am K'0¥IMTT1S 


Are the best published anywhere. All the most popular writers are emplnyrd to write originally foP 
“ Peterson." In 1879, in addition to the uhual quantity of short stories, FIVE OEIGINAL COPYRIGHT 
NOVELETTES will be given, by Ann S. Stephens, Frank Lee Benedict, Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
Jane G. Austin, and that unrivalled humorist, the author of “ Josiah Allen’s Wife.” 



Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and are unequalled for 
beauty. They will be superbly colored. Also, Household and otlier receipts; articles on ‘‘W'ax-Work 
Flowers,” “Management of Infants;” in short everything interesting to ladies. 

N. B. — As the publishers now prepay the postage to all mail subscribers, '•''Peterson" is cheaper than 
eves; in fact is the cheapest in the world 


T£RMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A ITSAR. 


Copies for $3.50 
“ “ 4.50 

Copies for $6*50 
“ “ 9.00 

Copies for $8.00 
* “ 10.50 


r With a copy of the premium picture (24 x 20) “ Christ Blessing 
I Little Children,” a five dollar ennraving, to the person getting up 
b the Club. 

f With an extra cop 3 ' of the Magazine for 1879, as a premium, to 
( the person getting up the Club. 

{ With both an extra copy of the Magazine for 1879, and the 
premium picture, a five dollar engraving, to the person getting up 
the Club. 

Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

300 Chestnut St., FMladelpliia 


Specimens sent gratis If written for. 


Senry €rreville*s Russian I^S^ovel* 


A RUSSIAN NOVEL. 

BY HESl^RY GRBV1I«I«X;. 

AUTHOR OF “DOSIA,” “MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER,” “ SAVELI’S EXPIATION,” 
“bonne-marie,” “PHILOMENE’S marriages,” “SONIA,” ETC. 

TKANSLATED EROM THE PRENOH BY MISS MARIE STEWART. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

Dournof” 7vas written in Russia during Madame Greville’s residence in St. Petersburg, and. 
is a graphic story of Russian life, containing careful studies of Russian character, which are 
most admirable. The story bears some resemblance to *'Dosia” and to '‘Pretty Little Countess 
Zina,” but is more interesting, all the characters being master-pieces of character drarving, while 
there is an ease and naturalness about each of the characters that makes the volume very entertain- 
ing and very enjoyable. One gets a good deal of valuable history, and of interesting facts pertain- 
ing to the people of Russia, from such stories as this, every page of which shows the hand of a 
poiverful and experienced author. Henry Grcville, indeed, is a charming and exquisite writer. 
Miss Marie Stewart, the translator, has done her work 7vell, and in the most thorough manner, 
in the English version she has made of this attractive story. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S OTHER NOVELS. 

BONNE-MARIE. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Grcville, author of 
“ Saveli’s Expiation ” and “ Dosia.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

DOSIA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Marrying Off a 
Daughter,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOM^NE’S MARRIAGES. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia,” “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “Dosia,” 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Save- 
li’s Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville. A dramatic and powerful novel of 
Russian life, and a pure, pathetic love story. Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

SONIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,’* 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

A FRIEND ; or, L’AMIE. By Henry Greville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 50 cents^n paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

GABRIELLE; or, THE HOUSEi^^; ByWf^nry Greville, author of 

“ Dosia,” “ A Friend,” “ Saveli’s E^!^on.*' Trice 50 c^Rn paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will be 
sent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelpliia, Pa. 








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